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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25025113">When Born Unto Chaos</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/steadydescentintomadness/pseuds/steadydescentintomadness'>steadydescentintomadness</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Substance Abuse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:34:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>116,920</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25025113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/steadydescentintomadness/pseuds/steadydescentintomadness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re fortunate Operation: Archangel was a success.”<br/>Taina nodded.<br/>Six shook her head back at her. She swiped a pen out of her varnished wooden utensil holder and began writing in a fury. “You’re on probation. Training only. You’ve left me no choice. Or would you prefer being court-martialled?”<br/>Taina just shook her head.<br/>“And you’re getting a psych evaluation.”<br/>A cold sweat coated Taina’s skin. Yelling didn’t get to her, but psych evaluations—different story. In Rainbow, with its secrecy and tight-knit population, it didn’t take long for any one person to hear about any one thing. She knew people talked. ‘Caveira barely passed her psych evaluation.’ ‘Caveira isn’t stable.’ ‘Anti-social Personality Disorder.’<br/>They say that blood is thicker than water, but either can leak and either drown you. That’s why Taina Pereira always kept her life uninvolved with either until one split second decision sends her to Bolivia and its consequences derail life as she knows it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gustave "Doc" Kateb/Taina "Caveira" Pereira</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>210</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>189</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Fine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>No one asked for it, so I made it happen. There isn't enough Cav/Doc, and the SI2020 trailer still has me reeling. I saw someone comment on it saying that Cav seemed to have mellowed. Between that and the events in Ghost Recon: Wildlands, I thought it would be fun to explore (also quarantine has me bored). Sorry for any typos.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taina “Caveira” Pereira had a long, deep history of working alone and causing trouble. She also had a penchant for leaving chaos in her wake. Those traits got her through life, got her where she was today: getting off the streets, becoming employed by BOPE, joining Rainbow as a highly—semi—respected operator. In many ways, it came as no surprise to her that those very same traits fundamental to her identity could jeopardize everything she had become. </p><p>Taina’s jet black fingernails plucked at the thick threading binding together the leather chair she occupied. Six had stood up from her own desk chair at some point during her tirade. <em>Justified, of course, </em>Taina thought to herself. The swearing and yelling, that barely bothered her. Caveira had become desensitized to people yelling in her face. Not that there were no ways to get to her—there were, and those ways were starting to come to the surface—but screaming at her in an office was never one of them. </p><p>All she wanted to know was whether she still had a job or not.</p><p>The first major internal incident since the reinstatement of Team Rainbow—Six was quick to point this fact out. Aurelia brushed out the wrinkles forming at the thighs of her dress pants before sitting back down in her chair. “You’re fortunate Operation: Archangel was a success.”</p><p>Taina nodded.</p><p>Six shook her head back at her. Aurelia swiped a pen out of her varnished wooden utensil holder and began writing on a document in a fury. “You’re on probation.” Taina tried to suppress the groan rising from the back of her throat, but Six clearly heard it; her head snapped up, and she levelled Taina with a spiteful look. “I have to put you on probation. Training only. You’ve left me no choice. Or would you prefer being court-martialled?”</p><p>Taina just shook her head.</p><p>The earthy scent of rosemary lined the air in Six’s spacious office and infiltrated her inhalations. Another odour, potent and floral—lavender, she realized—battled for dominance. Taina’s attention strayed, searching for a source.</p><p>Atop a rosewood credenza, white plumes jettisoned from the spout of a round ceramic diffuser, like a volcano with stage fright, afraid to commit. She wanted it to explode already—on its own volition, between her hands, or against a cement block. A thousand razor sharp shards. She craved destruction. </p><p>“And you’re getting a psych evaluation.”</p><p>A cold sweat coated Taina’s skin. Yelling didn’t get to her, but psych evaluations—different story. In Rainbow, with its secrecy and tight-knit population, it didn’t take long for any one person to hear about any one thing. She knew people talked. ‘Caveira barely passed her psych evaluation.’ ‘Caveira isn’t stable.’ ‘Anti-social Personality Disorder.’</p><p>She couldn’t help being a product of what she had lived through. Taina had passed all her evaluations to date, and she figured Rainbow wouldn’t keep her if she became too much of a liability, but she always worried—<em>what if this is the time?</em></p><p>Six closed the folder she had been writing in and tossed it to the corner of her desk. “Your evaluation is tomorrow at 0800 hours.”</p><p>Taina nodded one final time. She found it hard to speak with Six at the best of time; even more so when she got very little sleeping during the long haul flight back from Bolivia. </p><p>“You’re dismissed,” Six told her. </p><p>Taina left the head office building in a daze. She still had a job, though it may only be a matter of how long. When she broke out of her trance, she was in the residence building, so she trekked the rest of her way to the room. As she turned down the last hallway, she realized she had made it the whole way without running into everyone else. <em>What time is it? </em>she wondered despite not even being certain of what day it was.</p><p>She entered her room and immediately glanced at the clock. 1400 hours. Taina shed her grimy mud and blood-crusted uniform that had began producing a certain stench and exchanged it for a fresh, clean one. The stale and cold air—almost musty—ballooned within her lungs for a deep, unending sigh. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she unsheathed her knife and raised it. The flat side of the blade reflected dull light and her reflection in its width. She tilted her face to the right and raised her chin. Nearly all the paint was gone. She had wiped most of it off on the flight back to Hereford. Only a few black smudges and white smears lingered, more stained into her pores than paint still coating her skin. The only thing darker than the remnants of face paint—the ghastly purple circles shadowing her eyes. Taina took her time redoing her braid and freshening up as much as she could. She decided to take a full-fledged shower later, when it was appropriate. For now, she needed to find whatever schedule she was supposed to be on and adhere to it like not a single thing, not the slightest abnormality, had transpired.</p><p>Taina left her room and made her way to the kitchen.</p><p>Meghan sat at the table, surrounded in natural though muted light pouring from through the frosted windows. The blonde ate for what was probably the first time in a while. Taina hadn’t even realized her own hunger until she saw the grilled chicken salad Meghan devoured.</p><p>Her gut ached with pangs. A sensation she tried to ignore. </p><p>Taina quickened her stride as she walked through the room in hopes of evacuating the area before they could commence another argument. Four was more than sufficient. That and the thick stench of overripe bananas on the counter made her empty stomach churn. </p><p>“Cav!”</p><p>Taina stopped and pivoted towards the voice. Definitely not Meghan. </p><p>Emmanuelle entered the kitchen from the hallway leading to the bedrooms and joined Taina. She had changed out of her GIGN uniform into something more casual, a navy t-shirt and charcoal yoga pants. Emmanuelle smiled supportively at Taina like she could sense the discomfort taking over her. Emmanuelle reclined against the bland off-white vinyl countertops enveloping them and asked, “Are you going to rest?”</p><p>“No,” Taina replied too quick.</p><p>Emmanuelle flashed a partial smile. Taina didn’t need to say anything else—Emma was one of the only people she let get close enough to her as a friend. To know how she functioned. Emma asked, “You’re currently on the bravo unit, right?”</p><p>Taina nodded back like she knew for sure. She didn’t. She couldn’t keep pace with all the constant team changes even before she left for Bolivia. She had no idea what unit she had been. No idea who her team members were. Regardless, Twitch’s question held promise. “Yes.”</p><p>Emmanuelle’s thin, arched eyebrows sank in rumination. Lips parting to speak. Then she reached up and tightened the short ponytail at the top of her head, saying nothing. Stalling. Whatever music blasted from Meghan’s headphones bled into the silence between them. When Emmanuelle ran out of distractions, she sighed, shoulders sinking, and confessed, “I think your unit is still out at the kill house if you want—”</p><p>Taina had already rushed off before Emma even finished her sentence. <em>Thank God, an outlet</em>, Taina thought.</p><p>She needed to drown herself wholly in something before she lost it. </p><p>Taina found the women’s prepping room to barren and empty upon entry. Every footstep reverberated against the rupturing, spider cracked concrete. Standing at her locker, she flicked open her compacts of white and black paint sitting on the shelf. Then she raised her knife once more. Her fingers smudged paint over her face with no attention to detail, then she flipped the compacts shut and holstered her Luison. She settled on her SPAS-15, throwing the strap over her head, and exited out onto the field. </p><p>The overcast UK atmosphere made her shiver. So grey and bland and chilly. She hadn’t liked Bolivia, but its heat reminded her of home. Taina could hear sporadic shots coming from inside the kill house in the distance. Frost and Kapkan loitered outside the structure’s west facing boundary. Taina strode over to join them. Her boots, quiet against the grass.</p><p>Quiet enough to go unnoticed until she came to a standstill next to them. </p><p>Frost jumped, spinning “Holy fu— Oh!” Frost tugged down the black balaclava concealing most of her face except her wide eyes. “Cav!” She opened her mouth like she was going to speak further, but she seemed to think better of it.</p><p>Taina spoke instead in case Frost decided to change her mind. “What’s the score?”</p><p>“Just started. One-one.”</p><p>“Tied while down a person, hah!” Kapkan shouted towards the kill house. Like the attackers could somehow hear the insult in his words.</p><p>Taina tightened her grip on her shotgun. Her finger itched to pull the trigger. She wanted to get in there already. She needed to be doing something. Something physical. Something that demanded focus. Otherwise the thoughts swirling through her mind threatened to drown her. </p><p>Suddenly Jäger came running out of the building, fist raised in the air, triumphant. Doc walked out behind him. A train of attackers followed. Jäger and Doc approached the other defenders, but while Jäger circled around to speak to Frost and Kapkan, Doc beelined his way to Taina’s side. Taina opted to ignore that observation.</p><p>And to ignore how near he stood to her.</p><p>And the notable air of surprise in his voice when he said, “Cav, you’re here?”</p><p>Taina knew he would be the hardest to confront upon arrival. Everyone else fell for her appearance. The fear of her, and the threat of her—enough to leave her alone for the most part. She worried that lately Gustave had been adapting to that fear. Or worse, seeing past that mask. “Where should I be?” she asked instead of explaining.</p><p>His eyebrows furrowed, but he was quick to respond. “Here.”</p><p>Taina nodded, struggling to swallow, and stared at the kill house.</p><p>The horn blared, signalling the defenders to enter and reset for the next round. She marched after Kapkan and Jäger with Frost at her side until she felt pressure on her bicep, resistance. Taina glanced down. A white gloved hand gripped onto her. She killed her pace, but she never moved to face Gustave. </p><p>Instead he stepped around her so they stood face-to-face. “Taina, are you alright?”</p><p>She recoiled at the sound of her own name. Not demon. Not devil. Not monster. Not psycho. Not even Caveira. Her real name. The sound hurt, like lead weights strapped to her lungs, pulling them down, crushing them. It turned out special operators couldn’t just disappear for a few days without a word and return with no questions ask. That wouldn’t stop her from pretending though. She challenged Gustave’s intense stare that washed all over her, analyzing everything. But her body revealed nothing of the storm inside.</p><p>A murder of crows flew over head along the crisp wind and let loose an symphony of screeches—like some kind of omen. “I’m fine,” is all she said.</p><p>Taina stepped around him and broke away into the kill house. </p><p>Inside, the rest of the defenders had already began installing reinforcements ion the first floor. She quickly helped with what she could and darted away from site. The artificial bomb’s beeping faded out of earshot. Taina didn’t know where she was going—up flights of stairs, left turns and right turns in no sensical pattern. Madness. The horn sounded to signal the beginning of the round. Taina ducked into the third floor ballistic depot and drew her pistol.</p><p>Then she listened. </p><p>And she waited.</p><p>A thud punctured through the quiet down the hallway. She listened closer.</p><p><em>Crack. Thud</em>—planks of wood clattering to the floor. She crept closer to the door. Always watching for shadows. </p><p>The muzzle of a gun protruded into view through the doorframe.</p><p><em>Wait</em>, she urged herself. </p><p>The figure crouch walked forward into her sights. Jackal. He examined the ground for tracks. She waited for him to step into a clear line of sight.</p><p>Then she fired. <em>One, two, three, four.</em></p><p>Jackal fell to the ground on the fourth shot. Taina pounced, rushing over to where he lay on the cement. </p><p>A hiss invaded her ears. </p><p>The sound of someone rappelling outside the ballistic depot window.</p><p>A choice—go for the interrogation or fall back.</p><p>Her legs burned as she sprinted towards him. Her breaths, deafening.</p><p>She shoved her Luison into its holster and unsheathed the knife with her other hand. Taina dropped to the ground. Her knee delved into Jackal’s back, pinning him to the ground. </p><p>Then a series of pellets battered against her from behind. Her ribs, her shoulder blades, her spine.</p><p>“You’re done,” someone said. </p><p> Jackal sighed in relief at the person’s words, and he nudged at Taina until she got up off him. One glance over her shoulder, and a putrid ire corroded her insides. Ash swung into the room and stuck her landing with a thud and a grin on her face. Eliza released her rappel line and brushed past Taina to help Jackal up. </p><p><em>Of all fucking people</em>, Taina thought. </p><p>A bitter taste formed in the back of her throat. She watched them proceed down the stairs until it was clear for her to exit out the side door that had already been breached. She stomped over the pile of wooden debris and out onto the exterior stairs all the way to the field. Back at the mercy of the elements. </p><p>She made her way to the cement half-walls that had been installed in the grassy perimeter around the house. The frigid breeze did nothing to cool the hot rage blistering under her skin. </p><p>Taina hurled her model interrogation knife to the ground. The blunt blade jammed into the compact terrain, quiet and quick. Her fingers tore the straps of her gloves away, and she ripped them off to free her trembling hands. Clenched fists couldn’t stifle the convulsions. Beyond control, detached. Like they weren’t even her own. The air in her lungs seemed to wither. Inhalation after inhalation, she wanted to scream. Rage pulsed through her veins. Thoughts bombarded her.</p><p>
  <em>Libertad.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Probation.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Santa Blanca.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>João.</em>
</p><p>Taina swung her right fist. <em>Bang.</em> Her bare knuckles struck the concrete wall. </p><p>“<em>Filho da Puta!</em>” she screamed. Taina flicked her hand once before examining it. The skin already burned a bright red. But there was no blood. No broken skin, no bruise. Not yet. So— <em>Bang.</em> She struck again. Something electric—addicting—ripped through her body in spite of the pain. Incited by it.</p><p>
  <em>Bang.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>El Sueño.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bang.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Psych evaluation.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bang. </em>
</p><p>Taina couldn’t remember ever feeling so much contempt for the things dearest to her. The hate blinded her.</p><p>She hated that she had to abandon her duty in order to protect her brother, that the choice had been forced upon her at all. <em>Did you </em>have<em> to though</em>, a small voice in the back of head ask.</p><p>She hated that her actions had put Emmanuelle, her best friend, and by extension Valkyrie, in jeopardy.</p><p>The thing she hated most though was being punished, being made to feel regretful, for choosing to save her own brother.</p><p><em>Caimanes</em>. </p><p><em>Bang.</em> </p><p>
  <em>Court-martialled.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bang.</em>
</p><p>“<em>Caveira?</em>”</p><p>Taina shuddered out of her reverie. The blaring and discordant ringing that had swamped her ears succumbed to the voice behind her. Low and very, very French.</p><p>“Taina?” Doc called out.</p><p>Only then did she truly catch a glimpse of the havoc.</p><p>Blood covered her knuckles, warm and wet. It started seeping between each of her fingers and ran down towards her wrist in bright red streams. Crimson spattered the porous concrete in two concentrated circles. </p><p>Doc stood behind her, helmet and balaclava removed. Taina felt his hand on her, gripping her arm the same way he did before, and she knew it was far too late to do anything to conceal what she had done. </p><p>Gustave spun her to face him.</p><p>The helmet dropped out from under his arm, and he clutched at her blood-covered hands with urgency. “<em>Mon dieu</em>,” he whispered.</p><p>“Let me go!” Taina wrestled her way out of his fragile grip. Twisting, turning. The erratic movement smeared blood on one of Gustave’s stark white gloves. He called her name again, but she had already fled from him. Taina bolted further away from the fringes of the decrepit and tattered kill house and closer to the main building. </p><p>Jäger walked out of the front doors of the kill house with Thermite. The two argued with each other as they exited. Frost followed after. </p><p>Taina stood alone, isolated from everyone else. One arm wrapped around her torso. Numb. She couldn’t even feel the bleeding from her hands. Not the pain, not the hot, thick redness oozing down the skin of her hands. In her peripheral vision, she saw Frost approach Gustave, and he shook his head at the well-layered woman. Taina tried not to notice that his eyes never deviated from her. She stared into the distance instead. At nothing and no one in particular. Thin wisps of clouds swirling through the bleak sky. The breeze pushing over the tips of trees and long blades of grass. Everything blurred together in her eyes. Pointless. Nothingness. Her black fingernails picked at dry skin flaking from her lips. <em>Maybe I should have gone to the gun range instead</em>, she thought.</p><p>“Cav?”</p><p>She flinched. The tone, uncomfortably soft. The sound, booming. Too close to her.</p><p>Frantic blinks hauled her vision into focus once more. Doc stood in front of her again. Except when she looked around, everything had changed. The other defenders had already entered the kill house. Misty droplets of rain occupied the air. Only the two of them remained there. How long she had been standing so comatose? She didn’t want to know.</p><p>“Taina?”</p><p>“What?” She repositioned her hands out of his sight even though she knew he had seen it all.</p><p>“Are you sure you should be—”</p><p>“Are you about to tell me not to participate?”</p><p>Gustave swallowed the remainder of his question, face contorting—a bitter pill. “I’m not telling you anything.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>She marched off towards the kill house.</p><p>“Taina,” Gustave called again, immediately catching up to her.</p><p>“<em>What?</em>” she shouted, spinning towards him, struggling to breathe properly. </p><p>He pressed his lips together into a thin line, and he extended the combat knife out to her, handle end first. All traces of sediment and grass had been cleaned off. As she sighed, the stench of rain and damp dirt flooded her lungs. Taina took the knife from him and shoved it into the sheath hanging from her left hip. Next Gustave reached into his helmet tucked upside down under his right arm. He plucked her gloves from inside and gave them to her as well. </p><p>“Thanks,” she forced out. A struggle.</p><p>Left hand slipping into her glove, the harsh fabric skidded against her shredded skin. She flashed him the best half-smile she could in the moment before making her way back to the kill house. She tugged on the other glove, hiding her wince from all except the hilly greenery in the distance. The lack of sleep and lack of food were starting to get to her. And there was no denying that the pain had snuck back into her awareness. All culminating in her gut cramping, her body—afflicted. Taina sucked in her lips and bit down on them to bury any urge to vomit. <em>You’re fine</em>, she told herself. She had to be. She couldn’t face the other alternative. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I See You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to everyone who has read, left kudos, and whoever may be reading now. Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taina collapsed onto the seat of her stall inside the women’s locker room. She stared at her hands. Blood had dried around the base of each finger, red protruding from the edges of her gloves. She dreaded taking them off and seeing what damage may lay beneath. So much so that she opted to sit there and stare instead. All she had done was removed the SPAS-15 from around her shoulder. Frost and Ash had already left the changing area, leaving Taina to herself. The rust-covered silver pipes in the ceiling creaked before the rushing sound of water on the other side of the room deafened her. <em>A shower</em>—one of those sounded nice. The sweltering sun and the dust left her skin weathered. She fantasized how soothing the water and the steam would be on her skin, on her face. Heat and humidity slowly pervaded the room from the showers. Clouds of it—foggy and opaque in the cold, concrete-leaden change room. Beckoning her. As tantalizing as it was, her muscles felt thicker than brick. Still struggling to move. Taina settled for scrubbing her fingers down her face, smearing off as much face paint as she could. </p><p>At least the day was almost done. She just had to make it through the evening, and so far only Frost and Doc had made any comments on her absence. Dinner could be a struggle yet. Not that all of them sat at the same table together and ate the same meal and took turns talking about their days. But there were usually groups of them. And they did usually talk.</p><p>She didn’t want to think about it. <em>Too much thinking lately</em>.</p><p>Taina unstrapped the tactical rig from around her chest, tossing aside the spare shotgun magazine. She removed her knee pads and then unholstered her pistol, the custom suppressor cradled in her palm. Looking worn—it had gotten so much mileage lately. Her fingers grazed the wrapping, the zip ties. Black nails picked at a fraying fibre. </p><p>“Hey,” a voice, startlingly close to her, said.</p><p>Taina’s head shot up. Frost stood before her with her duffel bag of items. She had already finished showering and changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt. <em>How long have I been sitting here?</em> Taina wondered. Ash stood behind Frost, also fully dressed and ready to leave. Taina’s eyes flickered between the two of them, total opposites. </p><p>“Hey,” Taina replied.</p><p>Frost struggled to speak. She glanced back at Ash, short black hair whirling around her face when she moved, begging for some kind of assistance, but Ash only gave her a slight shrug, as if finding no point in the attempt. Frost smiled and eventually settled on saying, “We— I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>Taina reminded herself to try and smile back at her. </p><p>Frost didn’t push further than that. Taina watched Frost and Ash leave the locker room together. When the door latched into place, she sighed. Pistol aside, her hands braced against her knees, and she heaved herself into a stand. Progress. Though some body part popped in protest. Blood-caked fingers plucked away the clips around her thighs, from her holsters, her drop leg pouch—enough work to busy her. Enough to tire her out. She shoved all the items into her locker, not even bothering to organize them.</p><p>Her hands caught her attention again. Blood and gloves. They’d have to come off eventually. Taina fiddled with the velcro wrist strap of her left glove. </p><p>The door creaked open. </p><p>“Decent?”</p><p>Taina released her hand and pivoted towards the out of place masculine voice. </p><p>Doc half-peered in, tentative. Door still mostly closed.</p><p>Taina rolled her eyes. Head down, she surveyed the mess of gear before her and then swiped the beret off her head, tossing it atop the hill exploding from her locker. Cherry on top. “Sure,” she mumbled. </p><p>Gustave entered. He glanced once more around the locker room to ensure no one else was there, that there was no potential of a compromising circumstance, before letting the door fully close behind him.</p><p>“What are you doing in here?” Taina asked, unclipping and removing her tactical belt. </p><p>Gustave approached her. All of his armour and weapons had been removed, but like her, he still bore his uniform, the deep GIGN blue. ’<em>Still on the job</em>,’ Taina figured. And she thought she knew why. Her hands dropped to the side, and she tried to casually hide them behind her back. Gustave frowned at her movements. Still, he either pretended not to notice the awful attempt or decided to let it slide for the time being. “I’m checking up on you.”</p><p>“Oh,” she said, feigning ignorant. </p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>Taina blinked twice. His bluntness caught her off-guard. He was usually thoughtful and eloquent with his words, but she appreciated how straightforward of a question he chose to ask.</p><p>Not <em>if</em> she was okay.</p><p>Not <em>how</em> she was feeling.</p><p><em>What </em>happened<em>.</em> Facts. She could work with facts. Still, her eyes remained plastered to a crack in the old cement floor. “My brother is Policia Federal. He was undercover and infiltrated a major drug cartel. Then his cover was blown, and they kidnapped him,” she said with an ease she didn’t anticipate. And upon starting, stopping seemed an impossible feat. “I went to find him.”</p><p>“Alone?” Gustave asked. He shook his head next; he already knew the answer. “Is that where Twitch and Valk went as well?”</p><p>Taina crossed her arms over her chest, forgetting how bloody her hands were, and she shifted to the side. The taupe metal lockers lining the other side of the wall—all dented, stained, and discoloured—captured her attention. Operation Archangel. Extraction: a soft, non-civilian way of saying rescue. She could have handled it on her own. That or she would have been content to perish trying. “Yes,” she said, barely a whisper.</p><p>“Is your brother okay?”</p><p>Taina nodded.</p><p>“Are you?”</p><p> She glanced at Gustave and saw the concern drenching his eyes. A thick ball formed at the back of her throat, and she forced herself to swallow. “Yes.”</p><p>Gustave nodded with a slight sigh of relief. As if seeing an opportunity, he took two steps closer to her. “Then what is wrong?”</p><p>“What’s wrong is that I’m being punished for it. I’m being made to feel like <em>um monte de merda</em> for protecting my family. I left to save my brother, and they’re all acting like I deserted Rainbow to join the White Masks!” Taina’s hands clenched into fists. Leather ground against the open wounds on her knuckles, and she flinched. “I don’t expect you to understand—”</p><p>“I do. There’s nothing to understand—family comes first.”</p><p>“Not according to Six.” <em>Or Valkyrie for that matter. </em></p><p>“It’s her job to say that,” Gustave said, “and I don’t believe she’s punishing you for saving your brother.”</p><p>The words made Taina grimace. In part because he was likely right. In part because she just didn’t want to hear it.</p><p>Gustave took another step closer to Taina. A mere foot separated them. His eyebrows knitted together, something pained mingled with something unmistakably close to ire. That displeasure tarnished his voice too, low, sharp. He asked, arms gesturing, “<em>Why did you go alone?</em> You should have told us. We would have helped you. We would have supported you.” The tone in Gustave’s voice stooped, softening. He shook his head. “I know you have a lot of brothers. I know growing up you probably had to walk alone and fight to be seen or heard. I can’t imagine what that must have been like, but it’s not like that here, Taina. There’s nothing you have to do alone. You do not go unnoticed here. We see you.”</p><p>Gustave reached out his hand. His thumb brushed along the curve Taina’s cheek, wiping clean a smear of black paint clinging to her skin.</p><p>“I see you,” he said.</p><p>The breath snagged in Taina’s lungs. The words all at once excited and terrified her. An urgent desire to cower swept through her; she felt too exposed.</p><p>Gustave withdrew his warm hand from her skin. Instead he moved to clutch hers, and he raised her hand to examine the leather and hardened stains of blood. Black and white paint mixed together into a pale grey on his fingertips, a matching pair to hers. Then he smiled at her. “Let’s get these looked after, no?” </p><p>Taina nodded. Gustave escorted her to the medical bay. A wordless trip, but Taina found herself exhausted by the end of it. The hurricane of swirling thoughts ripped a headache through her brain. Gustave was always kind to her—to everyone, always. But lately, even before this, she noticed he’d make a point about it. And not the facetious kindness that got you temporarily off her radar and free from her potential fury. Genuine kindness. Kindness she knew she didn’t deserve. And she hated it—at first, that is. The line between kindness and a debt, almost always imperceptible to her. But lately she found herself relying on it, turning to those small kindness when she struggled with everything else.</p><p>Inside medical bay, Gustave pulled out a black and silver chair next to his desk for Taina to sit in before preparing. Better than the uncomfortable-looking hospital beds. Three, in a row. Awful. Taina sank into the seat. Without the steam from the showers in the change room, the cold air sank bone-deep into her. Taina shivered. The dreary blandness of the off-white walls rounded out a generally unpleasant feel.</p><p>Gustave removed his white lab coat from a hook in the wall, dressing in it and slipping on a pair of latex gloves.</p><p>Taina tore the straps of her tactical gloves away. ‘<em>Like a bandaid.</em>’ She yanked the glove off her left hand. A sharp pain cut through her flesh, running down her entire forearm to her elbow. Her eyes shot wide open, but she remained quiet. She could sense Gustave standing over her, watching her, but her fingers already had a grip on the leather, and she couldn’t be stopped. With one vicious tug, the right glove tore away from her hand. She shuddered with the slightest whine. Fragments of scabs had ripped away, and fresh blood smeared over old blood along her fingers, a mosaic of crimsons and browns. Only her pitch black nails remained in a passable condition. She flung both gloves onto Gustave’s wooden desk. </p><p>Taina peered up. Gustave held her gaze as he sat in the wheeled stool across from her. His strung out exhale held an air of admonishment. The same admonishment reached his eyes: dark and narrowed ever so slightly. But he kept his words to himself.</p><p>Gustave extended held out an open hand. Taina placed her hand in his.</p><p>“Where did you go?” he asked. The switch had flipped from emotionally charged to straight business, and Taina felt like she could breathe again.</p><p>“Bolivia.”</p><p>Gustave nodded. Taina had a feeling the answer didn’t concern him much. Just casual conversation. But his next words proved her wrong. “I was worried about you,” he declared with more comfort than Taina could even fathom speaking with.</p><p>Heat pooling under the skin combatted whatever chill had settled over her. Whisperings of an apology lingered on her tongue, but she couldn’t speak. A half-smile gracing her lips had to suffice. </p><p>“Did something happen there?”</p><p>He asked the question just as the disinfectant from a cotton ball seeped into her open wound. Strategic. An almost a successful distraction. Taina pursed her lips until the first wave of stinging subsided.</p><p>Then she put on a counterfeit grin. “A lot happened there.”</p><p>Gustave tossed the wet and blood-covered cotton ball into a waste bin. Hand gripping onto her fingertips, he raised her hand, the damage she had done staring her right in the face. His voice turned razor sharp. “Why <em>this</em>?”</p><p>Her smirk withered away at his response, when she caught the dark something in his eyes. He wanted an actual answer. Why? <em>Because I’m falling apart</em>, she thought. She didn’t have any other answer. Nothing but the truth—a truth she would never speak out loud.</p><p>“I...”</p><p>“You spoke to Six already?” Gustave doused another fresh cotton ball in antiseptic and took hold of Taina’s other hand—off the hook for now. “What else did she say?”</p><p>“I’m on probation,” she said, doing her best to not make eye contact. Eyes narrowing on three frayed threads of the GIGN patch stitched over his right bicep. ‘<em>Why am I even telling him all of this?</em>’ she wondered. Her only goal was to get through the day without talking to anyone. Without giving off even an inkling that something had gone down, and here she was telling him every behind-the-scene detail. “I have to get a psych eval tomorrow morning.”</p><p>“Good,” Gustave whispered.</p><p>“<em>What?</em>” Taina glared at him; her hand resting in his clenched. The latex separating the skin of her fingers from his squeaked under her forceful vise. “What do you mean, <em>good</em>?”</p><p>Gustave tightened his grip on her hand right back. Subtle, but noticeable. “I mean this isn’t normal.” Though she stared directly into Gustave’s welcoming albeit intense eyes, she could see her own hand shaking under the pressure and stress, the pain. It radiated along the bones of each finger connecting to the bones of her wrist. There would be no intimidating him out of his words. She loosened her grasp in surrender, but Gustave resumed his stare. “I was worried about you when you were gone, and I’m still worried about you.”</p><p>“Well don’t be,” she said. “I’m fine.”</p><p>“Would you even admit if you weren’t?”</p><p>Not a dig—evident in the delicate tone of voice. A legitimate question, a concern. </p><p>Taina scoffed and shifted her face toward the crumbling wall next to her. In the corner, a silver tray of various and equally silver medical instruments. A stethoscope, thermometer, blood pressure machine. Along his desk, a box of gloves and a row of glass jars containing cotton balls, swabs, wooden tongue depressors.</p><p>“You know it’s okay if you’re not, right?”</p><p>She didn’t respond. Her gaze—unmoving.</p><p>“Either way,” Gustave said, “a psychological evaluation is for your own good.”</p><p>“I hate them.”</p><p>“No one likes them.”</p><p>“No one else is already fighting a label.”</p><p>“You have passed every other one,” he said. “Is there something about this one that has you worried you won’t?”</p><p>Taina hated how easy it was for him to logic her into a corner with nothing but reality to face.</p><p>There was. There very much was something that had her on edge. She had passed before—before an upsurge of self-destructive tendencies had taken her over. Self-destruction and Rainbow could not coexist. </p><p>As if sensing her discomfort, Gustave changed the topic. “You missed the GSG 9 karaoke night.” He dabbed at one of her knuckles, cleaned of blood, with a cotton ball one last time. After tossing it in the bin, he picked up a roll of gauze. He began bandaging her hand and said, “They went into town, drank the bar out of beer, and came back to serenade everyone in German.”</p><p>She could picture them. All their arms interlocked, piss drunk out of their minds, shouting that remarkable and guttural language. “That sounds terrible,” Taina said.</p><p>Gustave’s eyes widened as he tucked the end of the gauze in to her wrapped bandage. “Elias is <em>very</em> tone deaf.”</p><p>Taina let loose a small laugh. The sound, foreign to her own ears. Even with his head angled down and pieces of black and silver hair hanging over his face, she caught him smiling. Gustave wrapped her right hand next. Taina’s voice shrank to a whisper. “Why are you being so nice to me?”</p><p>“I’m nice to everyone,” Gustave replied plainly. “Especially my patients.”</p><p>Taina’s lips pursed into a thin line. ‘<em>What?</em>’ she asked herself. ‘<em>Is that not the answer you were looking for?</em>’ She considered herself lucky to even be included in that <em>everyone</em>. She certainly hadn’t earned it. A downpour outside commenced in one sudden moment. Rain spattered, hard and constant, against the exterior window. It strummed against the brick wall. Taina turned to look. Thin, cream-coloured aluminum blinds blocked everything from sight—only grey bled through, but she lost herself in the rhythmic pattering. It soothed her. </p><p>“Here we go.”</p><p>Gustave wrapped the gauze around her hand one final time. She studied the end result. The blood had been cleansed from each digit and her wrist. She curled her fingers in a bit to test the waters. A negligible sting—more than tolerable. “Thank you.”</p><p>Gustave tucked the end of the bandage in once more. “You’re welcome.”</p><p>“I mean thank you,” Taina said, “for everything.”</p><p>Gustave took hold of her right hand again to give his work a once-over. Satisfied, his focus returned to her face. “You are still welcome,” he said with a grin on his thin, pink lips. Taina memorized him: the thickness of his eyebrows, a dainty scar on the bottom right of his lip, the slightest five o’clock shadow on his face. All the while he watched back. A deadlock of stares. Eyes still on her, Gustave raised her hand to his lips and pressed an airy kiss to the backs of her fingers. So soft she swore it was a dream. </p><p>The air evaporated out of Taina’s chest. She tried hard to not let her body betray her shock, her bubbling anxiety. “You do that with all your patients too?” she asked, keeping as still as possible.</p><p>Gustave stood from his chair. The grin on his face grew even more. “<em>Non</em>.”</p><p>Taina shot out of her seat, nudging the chair back, and snatched a fistful of his lab coat in her hand before he could walk away. The movement, jerking his body around. White gauze wrapped around her palm tightened. Cut into her skin. She slackened her grip just enough to assuage the pinching pain. She stared Gustave in the eye again. Not fascination this time. Intimidation. Gall and wormwood. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her jaw—clenched so tight it hurt. A desperate look screaming, <em>what the hell are you doing?</em> She didn’t even know her own goal. Terrorize him into taking it back? Menace him into silence? Whatever the crusade, it failed. Gustave blanketed her hand with his, holding onto her. Heat burning through his glove against her skin. No fear. No apprehension. Not even anger at her reaction. <em>Nothing</em>. And that seeded a strange terror in her. </p><p>Taina loved nothing more than being feared. Fear gave her control. It was safer than being loved, being cared for.</p><p>Why didn’t he fear her? </p><p>Gustave held onto her hand. The pad of his thumb ran lines across her fingers. Comforting. The whole situation, the entire world around her, she felt it spin out of her control. Powerless. </p><p>Someone knocked twice at the door. </p><p>Gustave gave Taina’s hand a gentle squeeze and called out, “Come in.”</p><p>She almost scoffed—at herself mostly. She was no threat to him, not even enough to command his full attention. Taina let Gustave go just as Finka opened the door.</p><p>“Ah, Lera,” Gustave said. He took a quick glimpse at the silver, expensive-looking watch clinging to his wrist and poking out from under the sleeve of his lab coat. </p><p>“I can come back later,” Finka offered. She ran a hand through her fiery hair while standing in the doorframe and refusing to enter any further.</p><p>Taina opened her mouth to agree with Finka’s suggestion. </p><p>“No, no,” Gustave said, cutting her off. He beckoned Lera in with a wave. Taina studied her clothing: black joggers and a loose crop top. Jealous. She couldn’t even imagine how comfortable that would feel. Sick of the same itchy feeling from her uniform. Gustave gathered her gloves from his desk and held them out to Taina. “Don’t get your bandages wet, and you’re checking in with me tomorrow.”</p><p>Silence served as her primary response.</p><p>Taina reached out to take the two bloodstained articles. Gustave jerked his hand away and the gloves out of her grasp just in time. An exasperated huff broke free from her parted lips. He raised his eyebrows at her, demanding a legitimate agreement. Taina groaned. “Yes. Fine.” He lowered the leather gloves into her hands, and smiling,he stepped back two paces to grant her a clear path to the door. Taina wasted no time exiting—she had to leave before she lost her mind even more. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Control</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bath water had exhausted all its heat and chilled so much her skin started to itch, but Taina didn’t mind. The shower she had been pining after for hours became a distant dream. She knew it would the moment Gustave had started bandaging her hands. She contemplated showering anyways. She was Caveira. A rebel against the world. Everyone knew to never tell her what to do. That rules came as suggestions to her.</p><p>None of that was the issue though.</p><p>The issue was Doc would be upset with her, and she didn’t want that.</p><p>The very concept summoned a groan. Since when did she take other people’s desires into consideration of her actions?</p><p>She leaned back, legs dangling over the side, eyes closed—trifling attempts to gain serenity. Hands bone dry, she gripped onto the edges of the bathtub. Her eyes scanned the bathroom ceiling. It was old, off-white. Paint peeled right above where the shower head hung. A deep breath inundated Taina’s lungs and then, eyes fluttering shut, she let herself slip. Her upper body submerged under the lukewarm water. It rushed into her ears, and it sent her hair floating, brushing against her cheeks and her neck. She dwelled under the surface. At peace in the black. Perfectly still—until pangs occupied her chest.</p><p>Until she started twitching.</p><p>Until she thought she might drown.</p><p>‘<em>I see you</em>.’</p><p>Taina’s eyes shot open. Grey filled her vision, the water burning her eyeballs. She scrambled up into a sit. Water splashed around her, lapping over the rim of the tub and onto the floor, as chaotic and noisy as her staggered breaths. </p><p>She got out of the tub after that. </p><p>Taina changed into comfortable clothes after what had seemed like weeks. She tied the waist strings of her sweatpants and shrugged on a sweatshirt—something she hoped would minimize the attention to her bandages. Half-dried hair brushed and tossed it into a messy braid, Taina gathered her items into her arms and stepped out of the bathroom. </p><p>In her bedroom, she tossed her clothes and towel into the hamper tucked in the corner. Taina plopped down onto her mattress and peered right. 2025 hours, her clock read in neon green. ‘<em>God, I’m tired</em>,’ she thought to herself as she stood back up. Even standing exhausted her muscles, but her mind raced. Overtired, she insisted. Not a symptom. Reaching over, two fingers flicked open the drawer of her bed side table. She pushed aside compacts of face paint and rummaged through her small collection of blades: a rotation of combat knives, pocket knives, her first knife—the most precious one of them all. She settled on a small switchblade, which she dropped into the pocket of her sweatpants. No reason for it. Having something on her merely made her feel safer. A comfort.</p><p>Taina made her way into the kitchen. She had already scarfed down bits of what she could after returning from medical bay: crackers, cereal, some fruit from the ‘about to be composted’ basket. All light, unsatisfying foods, but nothing of substance was better than nothing at all. Taina strode past the group of tables and opened one of the pantries—the communal one. She didn’t even know what food she had stocked before Bolivia. Whenever that was; she still didn’t know for certain. ‘<em>Three days?</em>’ she wondered. ‘<em>Four? It can’t be five, right?</em>’ Taina plucked a nearly empty bag of whole wheat bread. </p><p>Emmanuelle stood over one of the two stoves. Taina peered over her shoulder to see what she was cooking up. The pan filled with an assortment of red and green and yellow vegetables sizzled. Steam diffused the buttery garlic scent through the air and made her mouth water. Her stomach growled next. “You look chipper,” Taina commented.</p><p>“I slept,” Emmanuelle replied. “You obviously haven’t.”</p><p>“Hm.” Taina plugged the six slice toaster into the outlet on the kitchen wall. She plopped one piece of bread in and slammed the lever down. </p><p>“You do need to rest, Taina.”</p><p>“I will.”</p><p>Taina crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter. Valkyrie, Alibi, Frost, and Kapkan sat at one of the kitchen tables. Even though they all sat together, Tina and Maxim seemed to be engrossed in their own solitary conversation. Meghan caught Taina staring—practically glaring. Taina surveyed the commons area instead. The television blared though no one appeared to be watching. Ash and Castle were engaged in a round of chess. </p><p><em>Clunk</em>.</p><p>Taina recoiled at the harsh, sudden sound.</p><p>The toaster ejected her piece of toast onto the counter scattering crumbs and pieces of the crust all over the place. “Stupid thing,” she muttered. Her clenched right hand smashed against the still-scalding side of the toaster, denting the stainless steel. A sharp pain radiated along her knuckles. “<em>Merda!</em>” She flicked her hand, like she could shake the pain away.</p><p>Emmanuelle frowned at Taina. “Do I even want to ask about that?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>.” Taina stepped around her and tore open one of the two fridges. After giving it a quick scan, she moved to the other silver refrigerator. It had a disconcerting stench to it that she tried to ignore. Taina plucked up the jar of jaboticaba jelly she’d had shipped from home. Opening the drawer of cutlery next, she rummaged around, composing a symphony of metallic plinks, until settling for the most unnecessary utensil. A serrated steak knife. She clutched onto the wooden handle, stabbing and scraping at the jar to scoop out a heap of jelly.</p><p>“<em>Bonjour</em>, ladies!” Buck said upon entering the dining area. He joined the large and already crowded table and sat down across from Frost. He grinned at Valkyrie. “I see you’ve all returned from your little trip. Nice vacation?”</p><p>“Vacation. Yeah, right,” Meghan scoffed. “More like damage control.”</p><p>Taina slammed the jar in her hand onto the countertop. A discordant noise that cut through any conversation and caught the attention of everyone in the kitchen. They all shifted and gaped. Taina screwed the lid back onto the jar, picked up her knife, and she turned to face Meghan. Scrutinizing the blonde woman—the collapsing bun at the top of her head, the tattoo ink showing through the thin white fabric of her long sleeve shirt—while slowly maneuvering the jagged edges of the knife around her piece of toast. ‘<em>Such a shame</em> <em>we’re both defenders</em>,’ Taina thought. She’d love the chance to fire training rounds into her. To have the opportunity beat the shit out of her just once.</p><p>Buck scratched at his beard. “What am I missing?” Excitement lined his every word—ready for a fresh dosage of gossip. </p><p>“Just the entire organization almost being compromised,” Meghan muttered. </p><p>Taina’s grip on the knife tightened. A comfort, but there was nothing for her to do with it. And it was clear by Meghan’s reaction, Taina posed no threat to her. What was threatening about the person you were ordered to rescue? Taina had nothing else on her side. Powerless. </p><p>“That’s enough,” Emmanuelle said. She pointed the béchamel coated spoon in her hand at Meghan and then at Taina.</p><p>Taina’s attention deviated from Emmanuelle all the way back to the commons area. To Ash strategizing. To Castle accidentally knocking over a bishop. To Montagne and Doc talking to each other in French as they entered from the hallway. Her coworkers, her team. And for the first time since this all started, the thought in its entirety seeped into her consciousness. What <em>if</em> she had compromised everyone? The idea untethered a chain reaction of dismal realizations:</p><p>What if Rainbow dissolved because of her actions?</p><p>What if she didn’t have a job anymore?</p><p>What if she couldn’t save João?</p><p>“Just ignore her—” Taina walked away before Emmanuelle even finished her sentence. She returned the jar to its place in the fridge then she took her plate of toast and sat down at one of the small round tables by herself. In her peripheral vision, she could see Valkyrie, Buck, and Frost staring at her.</p><p>White noise filled her brain, screeching, while memories deluged her mind in flashes. The army of cartel members occupying the Chemical Institute. All of them armed with assault rifles. The helicopters. The snipers. Some small, annoyingly rational part of her suspected she never would have made it out of there alive, not by herself. If Rainbow hadn’t sent reinforcements, there’d more than likely have been two deaths in the Pereira family instead of none. ‘<em>Which makes you both weak </em>and<em> wrong</em>,’ the voice in her head said. </p><p>Her frantic eyes scanned the commons room. A desperate hunt for distractions. For relief. Her fingernails picked at a fraying edge along the outer layer of gauze encasing her palm while she observed everything: the crammed bookshelves, the television everyone always fought over. The chest boarded crowded mostly by black pieces. The coffee table. Doc, staring intently at her.</p><p>She clenched her hands to stop from fiddling.</p><p>He had changed out of his GIGN uniform and into casual clothing. She couldn’t help but notice how fatigued he looked: dull, half-lidded eyes, a blank face. Even after leaving the bandages alone, Gustave still studied her. She shook her head at him as if asking what his deal was. </p><p>Gustave shot her a smile before quickly turning back to Montagne with a nod. </p><p>The hunger pains cramping her stomach had vanished, but she nibbled her way through her toast anyways until it disappeared. Finished, her nervous hands reached for the bandages once more, but she stopped herself. The need to do something sickened her—she couldn’t just sit there.</p><p>Taina reached into her pants pocket and found the small switchblade. Hands on her lap, out of sight from everyone else, she flicked the blade open. <em>Click</em>. A sigh slipped past her lips. Slate grey handle clutched in her right hand, she explored the weapon with her left. Her thumb ran along the slightly arced back end of the knife, curving over the tip of the blade before grazing the sharpened edge. </p><p>A bang against the table shook Taina from her trance and stole her focus.</p><p>Dokkaebi. Hands clenching the spindles of a taupe wooden chair across from Taina. Grace’s eyes bulged. Everyone at the other table watched the moment unfold—a short moment though, because Dokkaebi immediately released the chair when she found herself caught in Taina’s sights. Grace walked back over to the crowded table and hovered over Kapkan. She tugged at one of her thin black pigtails. “I can stand,” she told them.</p><p>Taina smirked at Dokkaebi’s reaction. Her fear, the power in it. She hadn’t completely lost her touch. It felt nice.</p><p>Buck groaned, and he got out of his spot. Taina almost chuckled at the gentlemanly display; he didn’t strike her as the chair offering type. He took a moment to readjust the backwards ball cap on his head. Small tufts of hair protruded from the gap above the clasp. Buck then shuffled over to Taina’s table, and he picked up the chair himself. He hauled it over to where Dokkaebi stood and lower it onto the floor next to her. Next he put his hand on Grace's shoulder. “It’s just Cav being Cav,” he reassured her.</p><p>Dokkaebi smiled at him and nestled into the chair.</p><p>Any sense of solace crumbled to dust. </p><p>Taina examined her quivering fingers. They pressed the blade into place within the handle just to prod at the button and have it jut out once more. Her own pulse, savage and ravenous, beat in her ears—deafening. She always knew being feared served as her safety net, but she’d never had that compromised before. Her eyes wrenched shut for a fleeting second.</p><p><em>Breathe</em>.</p><p>It made no sense. All the hideous things she’d confronted in her life—growing up on the streets, undercover operations within multiple gangs, the unprecedented violence in Complexo do Alemão during the security crisis, infiltrating buildings of armed men and women, never knowing when you might feel the muzzle of a gun against your skull—through all that she had never felt so jeopardized, so exposed. Everything seemed beyond reach. Beyond her control.</p><p>Mayhem.</p><p>Taina closed and opened the knife again. Her thumb compressed against the length of the blade. The tip glinted under the hazy blue-white lights. She withdrew the knife, watching a linear indentation of skin bounce back. Insufficient.</p><p>A scream bubbled in the back of her throat.</p><p>She rammed her index finger into the knife tip instead.</p><p>Pandemonium ruled her mind. </p><p>She needed to exert control over something. The desire burned within. Overwhelming, revolting, making her skin crawl. While chaos reigned around her, she needed—for just a moment—to take control. But she had nothing: no means, no method. Manipulation and intimidation had failed her. What else did she have? The blade depressed harder and harder against her finger. Her skin ballooned around the tip, aching to give in. To split open and unleash blood. To come undone like the rest of her.</p><p>Heavy footsteps sounded nearby.</p><p>Taina glimpsed up and caught Gustave striding out of the commons area and entering the hallway. </p><p>A familiar cold dread filled her veins—impending action.</p><p>Her mind hushed and succumbed to the adrenaline. She was going to do <em>something</em>. She was never certain of what that something would end up being. Her bandaged palm folded the blade over into the handle, and she rose from her chair, pocketing the switchblade. She swiped up her plate, shoved it into the dishwasher, and rushed down the main hallway.</p><p>The floorboards bellowed with her chaotic footsteps until she skidded to a halt. Before her, the chilly hall split.</p><p>She glanced to the right—the way to her room. A choice.</p><p>One last moment to reconsider.</p><p>A door to her left clicked shut. It shook as it latched into place.</p><p>Taina wandered over to the door in question. Dim light slipped out from underneath. Her hand gripped the weathered, bronze doorknob.</p><p><em>Stop</em>, a part of her begged. </p><p>Something slithered in her gut, an urge telling her not to think. Thinking only made things worse. She peered around her. The remainder of the hallway to her left, just as barren as the hallway to the right. No one there to try and stop her. Taina's steady hand eased the doorknob to the right. It clicked again, a whisper, and she pushed the door open only enough to slip her body through.</p><p>A sand-coloured column floor lamp cast light throughout the room. A completely different orientation from hers. She found Gustave standing in the middle of the room, his back to her, completely still.</p><p>She figured that despite her attempt, he heard her enter. Still, she coaxed the door shut as noiselessly as she could. <em>Click</em>. His head shifted—not enough to gaze over his shoulder and see her, but enough to listen more closely. Without a doubt aware of her presence. The warm light darkened his already medium complexion. Her hands clenched then unclenched, begging for more blood in her frigid fingertips.</p><p>“Cav?”</p><p>Taina frowned. How did he know it was her? Though she doubted anyone else would sneak into his room. She doubted anyone else would even dare try stalking in so silently.</p><p>Taina stepped deeper into the room. The sound of her own footsteps, the sound of commitment, it made her want to scream.</p><p>Gustave shifted again. But by the time he went to turn to her, she had already gotten too close. Her well-wrapped hands rested on his shoulder blades. His muscles tensed and released in the same moment under her touch. The smell of him filled her lungs and intoxicated her mind. Her eyes coaxed shut. <em>Stop</em>, she begged of herself while resting her head on his shoulder, nestling against his back. His heat radiated into her skin.</p><p>This wasn’t her. Pursuing people. Relying on people, relying on him. It was never safe to rely on people.</p><p>“What are you doing to me?” Taina whispered.</p><p>She felt him breathe, like he thought about questioning or answering what she had said. Her hands stroked down his back and settled at his hips. She moved away just to nudge at him so he twisted around to face her.</p><p>He’d looked tired before. He didn’t anymore. His eyes, piercing right into hers, had gone from sleepy to lively and attentive. Wide, shocked. That may have been her doing—entering his room, running her hands all over him. Fight or flight. His lips parted to speak. Instead, just his hot breath.</p><p>Taina reached up and grazed her left index finger down his dry bottom lip. The same finger she had been on the verge of cutting open and bleeding out only a minute ago.</p><p>Gustave clutched onto her hand. To yank it away, to force her to stop, she figured, but his hold slipped past her wrist and blazing along her arm until his grip settled on her bicep.</p><p>Then he tugged her closer and their bodies collided.</p><p>Taina's patience corrupted into fervour—her other hand braced the back of his head, and she crashed her lips onto his, fingers combing through the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. Gustave’s arm circled around her, pinning her to him. </p><p>She forced herself to break away. The moment she did, every stimuli infiltrated her awareness. The flooring in the hallway creaked as someone sauntered by. It hadn’t stopped raining outside; water pelted the glass in a steady downpour. A burning itch burrowed under her bandages. </p><p>Gustave leaned forward and kissed her again. Firmer, the pressure of his lips on hers mounting until she surrendered. Taina’s mouth slipped open, granting him access, and his tongue brushed against hers. Hand gripping onto his shoulder, she kissed him back, again and again. Loving yet dying by the sound of it. His palm slipped down the small of her back and anchored along the curve of her hip.</p><p>Gustave suddenly tensed against her.</p><p>He pulled back to glance down at his hand resting over her pant pocket. Taina glanced down too. Then she remembered. His thick eyebrows flicked up, lips contorting—confusion, painted all over his face when she looked back up at him.</p><p>A morbid curiosity sprouted in the back of her mind.</p><p>What would he do?</p><p>Urged on by the rhythm of their ragged breaths, she reached into her pocket. Left hand still gripping onto his shoulder, Taina analyzed his every facial feature as she withdrew the knife. His attention settled on the weapon in her hand. In between their bodies. Pointed to the ceiling but still carrying an inherent threat. Her thumb mashed the button.</p><p>The <em>whoosh</em> of the blade swinging out of its cradle ruptured the silence and then the sharp, deadly blade snapped into place.</p><p>She didn’t know what she expected. Maybe fear, just so she could be right for once. So she could have it her way—a semblance of order. Confirmation that she was the terrifying psychopath everyone had not-so-secretly deemed her to be and then the fight against her fate could cease. ‘<em>Do it</em>,’ she thought as she watched him. No traces of panic filled his eyes. No frantic darting. No dilating pupils. He blinked once then glanced at her. Finally eliciting something, his eyebrows sank, but not from concern or anger. Disappointment maybe? Indecipherable. She couldn’t help but wonder if he knew precisely what she was trying to do. Testing him. Testing herself. He seemed to always know everything going on in her mind, even the things she couldn’t comprehend herself. The way he peered into her eyes, every motive of hers seemed legible to him.</p><p>Gustave draped his left hand atop hers still strangling the knife’s hilt. His other palm to forced the blade to fold back over, and then he enveloped her hand between both of his—gentle and warm, steadying. Pressure enough to click the blade back into place.</p><p>Taina conceded her grip on the switchblade enough for Gustave to possess it. He tossed the knife onto his wooden desk. She watched it clatter and roll over documents until slamming into a hardcover book's spine and coming to a stop.</p><p>Hand cupping her cheek, Gustave steered her attention back to him, and he reclaimed her lips. Taina sighed into his open mouth. They stumbled together, frantic kisses never ceasing, until they bumped into Gustave’s mattress. Taina shoved him backwards. Their lips broke apart at the force, and Gustave plopped into a sit on the edge of the bed. It sank under his weight. Seeing his bed almost made her want to fall asleep where she stood—except her body and mind buzzed.</p><p>A live wire.</p><p>Her hands took hold of his shoulders to steady herself, and she raised her knees onto the mattress to crawl on top of him. The bed frame let loose the tiniest of creaks. A pinkish flush, only somewhat obscured under stubble, bloomed in Gustave's cheeks. Her forehead rested against his. The heat thawed her numbed fingertips. She could feel it everywhere as she straddled him. Hands, chest, thighs. Lips skimming against Gustave’s, his breath hitting her in the face, she trailed her fingers over his cheek, along his jaw, and down his neck.</p><p>Then her hand curved around his neck and squeezed—only just. Gentle, yet still a threat if she wanted.</p><p>Deadly in an instant.</p><p>His pulse hammered against her palm. Elevated, but not too quick. She peered into his dark irises—warm, lovely, so unafraid.</p><p>“Why aren’t you scared of me?” Taina whispered, loathing the desperation in her own voice.</p><p>He had seen her at her deadliest. He knew exactly what she could do if she wanted to. How easy it would be for her. The amount of blood on her hands—a stat that should fill him, <em>anyone</em> but especially him, with abhorrence. He should fear her. Any rational person would.</p><p>“Is that what you want?” Gustave whispered right back, words dancing across her lips.</p><p>‘It is much safer to be feared than loved.’ An axiom she’d recited throughout her entire life. Machiavelli—a psychopath. ‘<em>Just like me</em>,’ she thought. She remembered reading those words in her youth. It made all the sense in the world. Love, so conditional, so fickle. But fear—fear was instinctual. Hardwired into the brain.</p><p>But it was only safer, she learned much later in life, if one cannot be both. Loved <em>and</em> feared. A paradox. </p><p>An impossibility. </p><p>Taina felt Gustave swallow, a series of spasm, under her vice. She shook her head, and her hand slipped down his defined chest instead. “No.”</p><p>He flashed her a soft smile before picking up where he had left off. Their mouths collided, and with his arm around her waist, he took her down with him. </p><p>The mattress curved against Taina’s spine, supporting the weight of her body and the weight of Gustave’s atop hers. She shuffled underneath him and tried to get comfy, shifting her braid out from under her neck. She had no plans of moving for a while. His warm hand drifted along her hip and the back of her thigh. She slipped her hand up his grey t-shirt and over his ripped core muscles in response. Gustave ran a line of kisses down Taina’s throat. The heart-fluttering sensation evaporated every molecule of air in her lungs—breathless. Her fingers raked through his dark salt and pepper hair, taking a moment to tuck the silvery white strands near his temple back behind his ear. </p><p>The first flash of lightning shot out, illuminating the room through the blinds, and a low hum of thunder followed sending a rattle through the walls. Like a reckoning. The rumblings of incoming consequence. She could picture Harry’s pencil against his clipboard. </p><p>Irresponsibility—check.</p><p>Recklessness—check.</p><p>“Taina?”</p><p>Her eyes slipped open. She hadn’t even realized they'd closed. His eyebrows sank once more, mimicking the concerned frown on his face. A grin lined her lips, and Gustave immediately smiled back at her. She gave him a shove and flipped the both of them over. Sprawling over top his body, she kissed him, softly capturing his bottom lip between her teeth. Her recklessness was tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, it was her fortune. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter is not as refined as I'd like, so I apologize for that, but I didn't want to go too long without updating. I hope you all still enjoyed it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Fear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just wanted to once again say thanks for all the love and support. Whether it be commenting, leaving kudos, or even just reading, I appreciate it. Also, I’m going to try and update more frequently. For now, enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Taina?”</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p>“Hm?”</p>
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  <p>Beginnings of pale morning light trickled through the blinds of the window—something that only brought Taina dismay. Squeezing her eyes shut even tighter did no good either. She rolled over 45 degrees and shoved her entire face into the pillow under her. A satisfying semi-darkness. Birds outside screeched at each other. Nowhere for her to turn and block out the God awful sound that managed to bleed through the glass.</p>
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  <p>“Cav?” Gustave said, hand skating down her back, barely tangible past the thick layer of blankets.</p>
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  <p>“<em>What?</em>” she snapped into the fluffy yet dense pillow, resulting in a muffled nothingness. She scrunched her face, trying to shimmy lose her side bangs. Strands of stray hair stuck to her eyelashes and got into her mouth, plastered against her tongue. Her lips, still tender and aching from the other night when she spoke. “I don’t want to get up.”</p>
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  <p>Gustave chuckled. The bed creaked, and she felt him moving beside her. “I can tell,” he said. “I don’t want you to get up either.”</p>
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  <p>“Good.” Taina shuffled around and wedged her head underneath the pillow instead. Blacker, quieter. She smiled at the success.</p>
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  <p>Serenity. </p>
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  <p>Gustave yanked the pillow off her head and tossed it to the foot of the bed. She groaned at him, wrapping her arms all the way around her head as an alternative to choke out the sunlight. He laughed again, this one bubbling with mirth. “You can consider yourself welcome to my room at any time,” he said, “but you have your evaluation this morning. What time—?”</p>
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  <p>“<em>Filho da mãe!</em>”</p>
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  <p>Every limb thrashed around—an attempt to liberate herself of the blankets she didn’t even remember slipping under last night. She glanced around Gustave’s room. Hunting for a clock with no familiarity. The walls, completely blank and undecorated. Her hands grabbed at Gustave’s wrist next, finding it bare and then tossing it aside. She flopped over top of his chest instead. On his bedside table, a square black clock. 07:39. </p>
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  <p>“<em>Merda!</em>” Taina crawled over his body and hopped off the bed. “How long have you been up?”</p>
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  <p>Gustave stretched his arms into the air, hesitating. “Uh—”</p>
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  <p>Taina tugged down the sleeves of her sweatshirt, which had been shoved all the way up to her biceps. She tore the elastic out of her hair next, tugged apart what was left of her destroyed braid, and redid it by memory. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?” </p>
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  <p>The question summoned a smirk. “You looked too cute to wake up.”</p>
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  <p>“Stop it!” Redness flooded her cheeks. Taina swiped up her switchblade from his desk. She made an effort to point her finger at him and not the knife itself. “Speak nothing of this to anyone!” Not that he required a reminder to stay silent. She certainly didn’t need to pretend to threaten him. It was no secret that relationships, even semi-relationships, hook-ups, or whatever the hell she considered this, were prohibited. So the relationships themselves became the secrets. Taina slipped the knife into her pocket then scrambled to the bedroom door.</p>
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  <p>“Which part?” Gustave asked.</p>
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  <p>“All of it.”</p>
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  <p>“Ah.”</p>
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  <p>She wrenched the door open an inch to the droning of footsteps. “Good morning—”</p>
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  <p>Taina slammed the door shut and braced her hands against it just in case.</p>
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  <p>“Fuckin’ nutter,” the person on the other side of the door grumbled. SAS, she knew from the accent. Possibly Thatcher. </p>
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  <p>“That’s not suspicious at all,” Gustave whispered.</p>
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  <p>She peered over her shoulder with wide, shocked eyes. A look that morphed into a pointed glare—jaw clenched, teeth grinding against each other. In part because he just laid there doing nothing to help her. Also because of the <em>way</em> he just laid there, on his side, head cradled in his hand, looking all innocent and doing nothing to help her.</p>
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  <p>“I guess you’re trapped in here,” he joked. Despite his words, he tossed the covers off his body and got out of bed. Taina shuffled out of the way for him to open the door. “You owe me,” he whispered before entering the hallway and securing the door shut behind him. Taina leaned closer to listen.</p>
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  <p>“You alright, mate?” the person asked. ‘<em>Definitely Thatcher,</em>’ she thought. He’d have been the most intolerable of SAS operators to run into like that.</p>
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  <p> “<em>Oui</em>, just a restless night,” Gustave said. Taina heard him stammer for a moment. “The storm kept me up.”</p>
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  <p>An emptiness pervaded the area. She wedged her body along the door, ear propped against the cheap wood to hear better. No footsteps. No further words. Nothing. The door unlatched with a click, and Taina stumbled back to make room as it swung wide open—enough room for her and Gustave to both glide through.</p>
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  <p>“Good luck,” he said while re-entering the room.</p>
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  <p>Taina nodded, rushed into the hallway, and near-sprinted to her bedroom. </p>
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  <p>07:42.</p>
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  <p>She raided her closest in search of something that would be tasteful and comfy but not too comfy to the point it looked like she wasn’t taking the evaluation seriously. Harry would probably read into her wearing her BOPE uniform too, so that was off the table. She found a pair of sage green paper bag pants she had purchased and never worn. “Sure,” she muttered to herself. After applying a lot of deodorant and even more perfume, she threw on a long sleeve white button up blouse. </p>
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  <p>07:47.</p>
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  <p>Taina slipped on a pair of bright white sneakers. Not the most professional, but it was between that, the shoes she actually wore to the gym, and combat boots. Taina bolted from her room while tying the fabric belt around her waist. Kitchen. Bathroom. Then run—the active plan on her mind.</p>
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  <p>Mike Baker stood in front of the stove and removed a hissing silver kettle of water from the burner. On the counter, a periwinkle fluted tea cup ready to go. “Morning!”</p>
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  <p>Taina stepped around him to dig through the basket of fruit breathing their last breaths. She plucked up a red and somewhat bruised apple. “Morning,” she replied. Her nails picked at the sticker on the red skin. Peeling it off, she flicked it into the sink and ignored its existence after that. Tapping the faucet on, she held the apple under the spout for half a second, then turned the sink off. Two shakes of apple flung excess water everywhere. </p>
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  <p>“Oi,” Thatcher said. He brushed water droplets from his arm and glared at her, unimpressed.</p>
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  <p>Taina had already made her way back to the hallway. “Sorry,” she called out to him. She scarfed down on the apple, chucking the core in the bathroom garbage basket. After brushing her teeth fast and pocketing her tinted lip chap, she sprinted out of the dormitory building. Running, she popped open the lid of her chapstick and scrubbed it across her dry lips. Tinted, for a touch of cosmetic. Lip chap, to suggest at least the mildest form of self-care. </p>
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  <p>She pulled out her phone from her other pocket to check the date and the time. 07:58. No time for the elevator.</p>
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  <p>Taina sprinted up the stairs to the third floor. Down the hall, she could see Harry’s office door hanging open. She wandered over, trying to give her lungs time to cope and recover before entering. Taina knocked on the door frame.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harry Pandey sat at his oak desk. Antique, a rich, warm stain and varnish. Papers, pens, blueprints, a disemboweled operation dossier, the day’s newspaper, a clipboard—almost everything thinkable lined the top of his desk. Harry rubbernecked at the sound of her knocks. “Ah, Ms. Pereira.” He straightened his posture, dropped the pen in his hand, and poked at the bridge of his glasses to adjust their positioning on his face. Harry, casual in jeans and a navy polo shirt, rose from his seat just to indicate the chair across from him. “Please, sit.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Taina closed the door behind her and sank into the grey cushioned chair. It groaned under her sudden weight. Her hands scraped along the plush arm rest until she caught Harry glancing at the casing of gauze. She moved them onto her lap instead so the desk obscured his view.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“How are you doing today?” Harry asked. Taina blinked, blank-faced, at him. Then he shot her an understanding smile. “‘Let’s just get this over with,’ right?”</p>
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  <p>Taina nodded.</p>
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  <p>Harry tugged the clipboard on his desk so it lay in front of him. He picked his pen back up and asked, “What’s today’s date?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“February 27, 2019.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“What what day of the week is it?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Wednesday?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harry checked off something as he read down his list of questions. “And what organization is this that we work for?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Rainbow.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Check. “What town is this?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Hereford.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Check. “Do you know what county we’re in?”</p>
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  <p>Her eyes wrenched shut and her head lolled back against the chair. Taina had gone through the Mental Status Exam too frequently with Harry. And even still after all those times, somehow without fail she could never remember the name of the county. She answered with, “A dreary one.”</p>
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  <p>Harry’s pencil tip scraped, rapid and noisy, along his paper, clacking against the clipboard at the beginnings of letters. Her eyes shot open again. ‘<em>Stop being a smart ass</em>,’ Taina scolded herself. It would only hamper her case. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harry said, “I’m going to tell you three words. Repeat them after me and memorize them if you can. The words are: house, kite, fish.”</p>
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  <p>“House, kite, fish.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“And what do you call this?” Harry tapped his pen against the mini black and silver globe at the edge of his desk, not even looking up. </p>
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  <p>Taina sighed. “A globe.”</p>
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  <p>Harry rose. His figure cut through the maize-coloured sunlight beaming into the room through his ajar east-facing window. He opened one of the drawers in his desk. Wood scraped against wood, and he withdrew another clipboard. Next one hand plucked a pen from the black wired cup holding a handful of writing utensils. Harry extended the clipboard and the pen out for her to take. “If you could please turn the piece of paper over and follow the instructions.” </p>
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  <p>Taina plucked at the metal hinge fastening the paper to the wooden clipboard. She flipped the page over. Harry’s narrow and evenly spaced writing spelled out: CLOSE YOUR EYES. Taina did so, taking a deep and laboured inhalation before releasing a loud huff.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Good. You can open your eyes, and now if you could write a complete sentence on the other side of the paper,” he said. Harry sat and waited, half perched on his desk with one leg raised, half leaning.</p>
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  <p>Taina scribbled out whatever came to mind first. Finished, she clicked the top of the pen and watched the ball point recede. She held both items out for Harry to take. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He took the pen, dropping it back into the cup on his desk, as he read over the sentence she wrote, chuckling. “Very funny. And you get full points for it.” He sat down and removed the page. One fist crumpled the piece of paper on which she had written, ‘I hate this test very much’, and the ball plummeted into the recycling bin. “What are the words I asked you to remember?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“House,” Taina said. “Kite. Fish.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Excellent.” Harry flicked his pen over the piece of paper for a final checkmark. “Now, you know I have to ask these ones. Have you had any suicidal thoughts recently?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“No.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Have you had any thoughts of self-harming or violence towards others?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>Well…</em> “No.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harry’s thumb pressed on the top of his pen twice—<em>click, click</em>—retracting and withdrawing the tip again. He looked like he <em>wanted</em> to believe her. “Should we get into why you’re really here?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> “I’m here because Six is forcing me to be here, and I want to get off probation.” Taina noticed a black recording device sitting on his desk. It was on, but showed no indication of actually recording anything. She fiddled with the bandage on her left hand, fingers yanking at splitting ends. “I’m not here by choice.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harry chuckled at her quick response. “I hope it’s not me you despise. It’s my job to get to know the operators here, but it’s also my passion. I want to be someone each of you can trust.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“It’s not you.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You don’t like psychological evaluations,” Harry stated. Fact. He removed his reading glasses and set them onto the desk. He clasped his hands together and watched Taina. “I’ve gathered that from the previous sessions we’ve had, but your reaction is more visceral than that. It’s like you fear them.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Her hands clenched into fists. She noticed for the first time that instead of pain in her knuckles, there was a tightness, resistance. ‘I fear nothing,’ she wanted to say. Except it wasn’t true. Far from true, and her list of contradictions multiplied by the day. She hated it.</p>
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  <p>“What is it you fear about them?” Harry asked. “Is it their outcome? The self-analysis? Both, perhaps?”</p>
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  <p>She kept herself still, giving him no verbal or non-verbal response to work with. No way in hell was she doing that. Not with him, the person who held her fate in his hands. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>But she knew it was both. And she figured he knew that too.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harry got out of his ergonomic desk chair and wandered, fiddling with the band on his left ring finger. A tactic utilized to try and deescalate the situation, to lessen the blow of his personal questions. “Say it is both. Hypothetically, of course. Fear, such as a phobia, is only a false emotion appearing real. There’s an aspect of the unknown that is born from one’s own projection into the future, into a reality that doesn’t yet exist and may never exist, which enables fear to take hold. Fear has no true power.”</p>
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  <p>Taina shook her head—though she was a bit biased. Fear had all kinds of power when used right. She crossed her arms over her chest and, gazing into the distance, mumbled, “I never feared anything.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Beg your pardon?” Harry asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I said I don’t fear anything.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You said you never <em>feared</em> anything. Past tense.” Harry smiled at her like this was his big breakthrough—a eureka moment. But then he held his hand up to his chin, thumb and index finger brushing against the hair of his beard for a short moment. Theorizing, interpreting. “Fear is merely one’s reaction to a perceived threat, real or unreal. If anything, you wouldn’t <em>let yourself</em> feel fear.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Taina never let herself feel anything. And that had always been for the best. Not fear, not worry, not hatred, not lust. But she had feared for João’s life, feared failing him as she hunted him down and disposed of those who stood in her way. She feared failing her entire family. Worried about coming back to Rainbow. Hated the fallout of both of those things, tearing her life apart. And her lust—Taina shivered at the onslaught of memories, thoughts, and sensations, her every sense craving for satisfaction. Hands clenched, Taina crossed her left leg over her right knee and tried to focus on the words Harry spoke.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“That’s not entirely a bad thing though. Sometimes it pays to be fearless—something I’m sure you’ve experienced firsthand in the field. If you analyzed every danger in the extreme risk situations Rainbow deals with, you’d be unable to do your job. That being said, it’s rational fear that aids with surviving in the field. Not all fear is bad.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>A crisp, cool breeze flooded in through the open window. It chilled the sweat that had slowly gathered in Taina’s palms and along the back of her neck. Even though the rain had ceased, the smell of it lined the air and danced on the wind rushing over her. The odor mingled with the citrus scent of Harry’s sliced grapefruit in an open food storage container.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harry leaned back against his desk again. “I wonder if you fear both,” he said pointblank but with no harmful accusation in his tone. “I think you fear the questions because you worry about having to acknowledge something you already know is there within you as much as you fear discovering something you never knew was there at all.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Taina remained perfectly still once more. Harry watched her, expectant. Like baiting for a reaction—one way or another, something more concrete for him to analyze beyond a thinly veiled concern she had of herself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“So tell me, now that you have recognized that fear exists, how does it make you feel?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The question with its loaded introspection triggered her gag reflexes. The answer should be <em>nothing</em>. She wondered if she should just talk for once. Speak openly for the first time in forever. Gustave had claimed the whole thing was for her own benefit, but... Taina wrenched loose the end of the bandage circling her left hand. She unwound the gauze for three loops, yanked on the strip to tighten it, and rewrapped her wrist. Nothing else to do, her hands dropped into her lap. Her throat strained to swallow the mucus building up. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Lost,” she said. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harry looked like he expected a number of answers, but lost was never one of them. His lips sagging into a frown. “How so?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Taina shrugged. “That’s not me.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>At least... it wasn’t supposed to be. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Feeling fear? Feeling emotions isn’t you,” he repeated, trying to make sense of it himself. The answer kindled some kind of intellectual excitement in Harry. “This isn’t just about your evaluation is it? Violating regulations in order to rescue your brother, that’s a very emotional response, especially from you. You must hate people seeing that aspect of you. You probably feel your identity is compromised because of it.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He took the moment to himself to walk over to his window and press his palms against the sill as he leaned out to get a good look. She heard him take a deep inhalation, saw his shoulders rise. Her head nodded off to the side, and her eyes began to droop. She wanted to be back in bed. Maybe her’s. Preferably Gustave’s. Preferably with him in it, but she couldn’t bring herself to be picky. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harry pivoted around to face her; Taina dropped her inappropriate smirk just in time. Harry resumed the fiddling with the golden ring on his finger, spinning it around clockwise then counterclockwise. “What you’re describing is change, Taina. Evolution. It’s a good thing. You shouldn’t run from it.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“No,” Taina replied. “I can’t do both.” She couldn’t <em>not</em> run. She couldn’t change and be herself. She couldn’t be loved and feared. She couldn’t be fearful and expect to be feared. It was too blurry of a line. All or nothing, everything functioned in absolutes. “I can’t be both.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“It must feel like a paradox—addressing your own fears when you deal so frequently in others’. The work that you do is extreme; interrogations are rooted in fear. Look at it as a way to have a deeper understanding of your own methods. In that same vein, I’m sure you view emotions as vulnerability, a handicap to be taken advantage of by others. Something else you’re likely all too familiar with in interrogations. Consider it personal growth, a way to enhance your already existing abilities. Controlled emotionality can only benefit Rainbow and yourself.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>Controlled. </em>The key word. A power she constantly hungered for; an asset she had recently found herself hemorrhaging. Taina flung her left arm over the back of her chair and rapped her fingernails against the armrest. “So, what? I’m supposed to feel bad about the things I do now? Should I feel guilty about killing people who are trafficking humans and their organs? The drug dealers, the terrorists. I’m to feel remorse for killing people who try bombing buildings with civilians inside?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Do you?” Harry asked back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She had been trying to stay neutral. To neither confirm nor deny, to keep quiet and cling to plausible deniability, but convictions never die. “Absolutely not.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Very consequentialist of you,” Harry said, “and completely valid.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harry rubbed his hands together and strode over to the exit of his office. He opened the door. The mere sight of the hallway set Taina’s muscles ablaze with a need to escape. She launched out of her seat. “Am I done? Did I pass?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I believe you will. I trust in you.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Taina crossed her arms over her chest. Her splayed fingers depressed deep into her own skin, only to pull the gauze even more taut around her hands. “So I haven’t yet?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I’d like to see you again,” Harry said. “Give it a few days. The recent events may be too… fresh a fair evaluation.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I’m not traumatized by the <em>recent</em> <em>events</em> in Bolivia,” Taina said, almost laughing at the idea, at having to even say the words. <em>Trauma</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Of course not. Your profile proves you’re nothing if not resilient, but there’s no denying that the recent events are stressors. Your probation period only just begun. I think it’s in yours and Rainbow’s best interest to hold off on any conclusion for now.” Harry’s dark irises traced a line from Taina’s face down to her crossed arms. At the bandages encasing her skin.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>‘Shit.’</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Any kind of bandages near major veins or arteries—not a promising look to a psychologist. She accidentally-on-purpose tugged up one of the ballooning sleeves near the cuff to show off her untouched wrist and forearm. She shot him a look as well for maximum effect, wanting to make sure the man who noticed everything took notice of her one, solitary achievement. Even still, Taina felt transparent. All the questions that should have come up—impulse control, risk-taking, coping, something about anxiety—all the red flags whizzing by in her peripheral vision, either questioned directly by him or under the guise of self-assessment questions. Just <em>something</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It was like they didn’t even need to be asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You know, you never provided such complex answers to that many questions before,” Harry noted. “You’ve been very responsive today.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“There must be something wrong with me,” she said, voicing hitching with levity. A joke. Mostly. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Quite the opposite, I’d argue.” Harry shot her a final smile. “Come see me in a few days.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Thanks, Harry.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Good day, Ms. Pereira.”</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Repercussions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taina marched out of her bedroom, free from the “presentable” clothing and back in the comfort of her workout clothes. Gym bag over her shoulder, she made her way through the hallways and into the kitchen. The stench of burnt toast permanently stained the air. In the empty space by herself, she took her time: unscrewing the lid of her water bottle, rummaging through the cupboard for a snack to take to the gym.</p><p>“I knew I’d regret going to her,” someone said from behind, entering the kitchen as well.</p><p>Taina tossed a protein bar into her gym bag. She recognized the voice as Valkyrie’s, though there was no certainty in who she spoke to. Taina leafed through her various supplement powders and tried not to obviously eavesdrop on the conversation she had no part in but she had a nagging feeling would tie back to her.</p><p>“Bowman never lets anything go.”</p><p>The veins under her skin seemed to clog, freezing over in ice. <em>Bowman</em>. She should have known Bolivia wouldn’t be the end of it. ‘<em>Stupid of me to think otherwise,’</em> Taina remarked to herself. Over-ambitious and foolishly driven, the woman had threatened her brother—in front of her, no less. And Taina knew Polícia Federal. Bowman wasn’t going to get shit out of them, and of course she wouldn’t take losing El Sueño lightly. All that remained was a hefty favour which naturally fell on the shoulders of Rainbow… ‘<em>All because of me.</em>’ Taina jammed her water bottle against the dispenser of the titanium fridge with too much aggression and tried to listen closer through the uneven, babbling stream of water.</p><p>“Sounds like it’ll suck,” someone replied. Male. Low, gruff, American. Blackbeard, Taina determined.</p><p>For a moment, neither of the Navy Seals said anything else, and Taina could have swore they had exited the room if her hearing weren’t next to infallible. A lack of footsteps implied the two of them remained. Meghan said, confirming her presence, “At least it’s an actual operation that you get to go on.”</p><p>Taina would not be participating in operations anytime soon. That she knew. Probation, a ball and chain that weighed her and her alone down. But the short turnaround barred Meghan and Emmanuelle from assisting as well. Twitch wouldn’t care. Valkyrie, blame punctuated every syllable of every word uttered.</p><p>Meghan then said, “And I know you’re listening.”</p><p>Taina retracted her water bottle and shifted to toss half a peer over her shoulder. In the outer edges of her vision, Valkyrie and Blackbeard loitered in the threshold between the kitchen and the commons area. Taina’s teeth clamped down on the corner of the small sachet and tore open whatever energy powder she picked out of the pantry and dumped it into the open water bottle. Purple crystals clumped together, some sinking, some floating. Taina bit the bullet and pivoted to face Valkyrie and Blackbeard. Meghan stood, arms crossed over her chest like a condescending parent ready for a lecture, save for her ripped rugged jeans and cold-shoulder sweater.</p><p>After screwing the lid back on for her shaker bottle, Taina rifled a scowl Meghan’s way and shook the bottle—vigorous, noisy, a smidge passive-aggressive—sending the silver wire whisk ball bouncing around. <em>Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk.</em> The hostile facial expression, compacted upon all the ways Caveira moved and acted, that lethal résumé condemned Meghan to a fleeting silence. Sufficient enough. Taina strode out of the kitchen and began the trek to the gym while a string of expletives sailed through her mind. <em>‘This is the last thing I need to deal with</em>.’ One choice. One, split second, do-or-die decision, and it refused to cease sending the fiendish hounds of consequence after her. A haunting.</p><p>At the gym, Taina picked a random treadmill in the room mostly devoid of people yet crammed with machinery, cranked up the speed, and ran.</p><p>She ran like she could get somewhere. As if some destination hid under the horizon, lying past the shore, just beyond reach. Like she could evade the poisonous fountainhead of it all.</p><p>Taina flicked the dial on her treadmill and upped the speed.</p><p>Vast greyness stretched before her beyond the floor length windows. Mineral deposits from day after day of precipitation stained the glass in a damask-like pattern. Be it rain or snow, it fell from the clouds constantly. Deep, mossy green hues littered the rolling hills which stretched into an evaporating horizon. Beyond the hills, she could make out the gothic architecture of Hereford Cathedral rupturing through the haze. Its spires stole all attention even through the bluish fog. The diluting cerulean tones mesmerized and soothed her. It remedied a growing burn in her legs even though she loved it, the ache. Addictive and invigorating.</p><p>Doc cut into view in front of her, sidestepping from the left.</p><p>“<em>Que porra é essa?” </em>Taina shouted, flinching at the sudden motion. Hands gripping onto the rails, she hopped up. Her feet landed on the treadmill’s black plastic frame lining the running deck, which continued whirring in her absence. <em>“What?</em>”</p><p>Gustave’s eyes narrowed into slits. A look she could only interpret as exasperation. That irritated face interrupted her sights of the heart of Hereford—a conclusive upgrade though his pout wasn’t promising. Pristine white lab coat hanging from his shoulders, the appearance made him stick out in the gymnasium. “Did you hear a word I said?” he asked her.</p><p>Taina rested her hands on her hips, along the seam of her raspberry high-waisted spandex pants, still refusing to turn the treadmill off. Not even settling to at least knock it down a few speeds. ‘<em>Did I hear a word—</em>’ Taina blinked. How long had he been there? She surveyed her surroundings. Finding no one to her right she checked over her shoulder. IQ sat at a cycling machine, arms dangling at her side and clearly focusing more on the two of them than her workout. When Taina returned her attention to Gustave, he blinked at her. Not only did he catch her off-guard, he managed to sneak up on her. Taina reined in the urge to pout right back at him and instead rolled her eyes. “Uh…” She pretended to think while finally deciding to leap off the still running treadmill. Her weight impacting the padded flooring let out a small hiss. “No punching?”</p><p>Doc sighed.</p><p>A definite <em>no. </em>Her lips pulled into a tight line.</p><p>“I said to see me at three. I need to change your bandages.”</p><p>Taina shrugged, deeming her guess decent enough, but then a thought dawned on her. “Did you come here just to tell me that?”</p><p>“I did.”</p><p>“You probably could have just messaged me saying that.”</p><p>“I <em>could have</em>,” he admitted. The outer corner of his lip twitched up in mischievous smirk. Having way too much fun. Especially in public. Taina bit down on her tongue in an attempt to stifle any other reaction to his words. The gym stole her attention—or rather, she gave her attention away, desperate, heart racing and not just from running. A series of racks holding various sized dumbbells stretched the entire length of the room with intermittent blank spots. The clatter of weights rising and falling rattled from where Pulse lay bench pressing. In the back corner, the fighting ring she already missed dearly.</p><p>Voice quiet and soft, almost inaudibly low, Gustave asked, “How did it go?”</p><p>Turning back to him, Taina’s shoulders bounced up in a weak shrug. “To be determined.” She lacked any desire to elaborate or discuss the meeting with Harry. Living the catastrophe once—plenty enough. “Med Bay at three,” she repeated, groaning, as confirmation.</p><p>Gustave nodded, and he burrowed his gloved hands into the pockets of his lab coat, took a heavy inhale, and released. Inquisitive eyes roamed up and down her, never seeming to settle his sights on anything in particular—just all of her.</p><p>Taina’s head cocked to the side, neck craning, eyebrows furrowing. “<em>Anything else?</em>”</p><p>Gustave shook his head. “<em>Non.</em>”</p><p>“Then quit looking at me,” she hissed. Taina whipped around, braid flinging after her, and stepped back onto the frame of the treadmill with a feeling she couldn’t quite shake. The running deck still whirred. The rubber’s uneven pattern, dark stripes and flecks of off-white, flickered past. A rapid, unending loop. It hypnotized her. Taina’s grip on the padded railings tightened while something thorny pickled under her skin, subconscious. Or hyper-aware. She groaned, head snapping to the left to confirm—Gustave, still ogling her. “Stop it.”</p><p>“Three.”</p><p>“<em>Yes!</em>” Her voice boomed louder than intended, and she was pretty sure she could feel IQ staring at her again. Gustave smiled and began his retreat out of the gym. “<em>Meu Deus</em>…” she muttered to herself and herself alone. She glanced back down at the treadmill running between her spread apart feet. Mistiming a single step could result in a brutal face plant. ‘<em>One, two—</em>’</p><p>“Oh, and Cav, that reminds me!”</p><p>Every muscle tensed. All at once aborting any plan of action upon the sound of his voice. Her fingernails dug holes into the foam protecting the railings at her side, not even bothering with looking back. “<em>What?</em>”</p><p>“No hitting,” Gustave said.</p><p>Her attention snapped back his way. Gustave stood, elbow perched on a tall stand of different coloured medicine balls. Almost chuckling. Taina raised her middle finger up at him and fought to maintain a stranglehold on the glower plastered over her face. But that rapt, too-pleased grin of his—even she fell victim to it.</p><p>The tiniest of smiles slipped by, and she was okay with that. Just this once.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The door of medical sat wide open, and quiet French mutterings emanated from inside. Taina stopped outside the door and leaned to peer inside. Doc stood, hands braced against the edge of his desk to support himself, a perplexed expression breaking on his face. Taina leaned against the doorframe and watched. Five different file folders lay spread out. He alternated between documents and moved them around just to shuffle the folders up and start over. Taina chuckled.</p><p>Gustave’s posture transformed from hunched to pin straight and proper in a heartbeat. He glanced over his shoulder. “Cav!” His eyebrows shot upwards, and he spun to face her. “Come in, sit.”</p><p>Taina slipped into the room. Gripping onto the doorknob, she pulled the door shut behind her until it latched into place. Peeking out from underneath her hand, a small latch. The’s door locking mechanism. A smirk ignited on Taina’s lips.</p><p>The slightest flick of her finger, and the lock switch turned, engaged.</p><p>‘<em>Oops</em>.’</p><p>The blood in her veins vibrated with her movements: each step forward, every breath in and out—alive. Gustave scrambled to organize the papers and documents covering his desk. Chemical compounds. Long, pharmaceutical words. His own penmanship. Taina tried not to snoop too much as she approached. Her fingertips ran along the back of the chair she had sat in only the day before. To her it felt like weeks ago. All of it a rapid yet infinite blur in her mind. She couldn’t convince her body to sit. Just as she couldn’t convince her mind to slow.</p><p>Taina placed herself beside Gustave and leaned back against his desk.</p><p>She glanced over at him, cheek cradled against her shoulder. The blue GIGN uniform clung to his body—over the muscles of his arms and down his torso. She wanted to touch him, to feel the warmth glowing from him again.</p><p>Gustave caught her stare and abandoned the task before him. He left the folders in disarray and instead extended his hand, palm up. Memory lucid, she could almost feel it, the trail of fire his hand blazed along her thigh. She gave him her hand, and he unwound the first bandage. “How have they been feeling?” he asked. “Anything this morning?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“And yesterday? Any pain then?”</p><p>“Didn’t notice any.” The bandage fully removed, her skin could breath again. Clumpy scabs lined her knuckles but they caused no pain as she wriggled her fingers and rotated her wrist, imbibing in the freedom. Doc clutched her other hand, and Taina weaved her fingers through his as best she could and whispered, “I got a bit distracted.”</p><p>Gustave smirked at her. With both bandages removed, he coxed her fingers to curl into a fist. “You’re lucky nothing is broken or fractured. Though you’ve probably got them conditioned at this point.” She had. Over the many years, she had noticed her tolerance increase. Taina Pereira had starting throwing punches before she could even drive. She remembered how her hand looked when she had broken it years ago. The popping sound, the black bruise, the way her knuckle dangled unnaturally off to the side. Fortunately all that remained this time were scabs. As Gustave readied a fresh set of bandages and cleaned off the remnants of dried blood from her hands, he said, “I meant to say ‘thank you’ earlier.”</p><p>“For what?”</p><p>“I didn’t think you’d actually keep your bandages dry.”</p><p>Taina shrugged. It hadn’t been easy, but she figured he would be grateful for the small gesture. “You asked me to, so…”</p><p>“That easy, is it?” Gustave asked.</p><p>Taina’s teeth nibbled on her bottom lip. Dry, chapped flakes of skin grazed her tongue. It shouldn’t have been that easy. It <em>wasn’t</em>—for anyone except him. Gustave took his time wrapping up her hand. Too much time. Impatience took her over: spikes poking into her gut over and over again, each inhalation insufficient. His hair beckoned her. Soft, dark and silver, a desire to comb her fingers through it flooded her body. She wanted to press her lips the scar under his.</p><p>“It’s because I trust you,” Gustave said out of nowhere.</p><p>Taina’s face scrunched—surprise meddled with confusion. “What?”</p><p>Gustave secured the gauze around her left hand into place, and he refused to respond until he completed the task. Only then did he meet her gaze, eyes flooded with an endearing glint. “Last night,” he said. “I’m not scared of you because I trust you.”</p><p>The <em>why</em> of the subject never really occurred to her. All she knew at the time was that he didn’t fear her, and that was more than enough to set her off. Taina swallowed her automatic response—<em>you shouldn’t.</em></p><p>“Keep them covered for a few more days,” Gustave said, thankfully moving on. She nodded and tried to ignore the heat flooding her face. She viewed the fresh bandages encasing her hands, skin already missing the fresh, cool air. Gustave released only one of her hands and held the other captive between his. He raised her hand up to his lips, the same as he had the day before. Taina felt Gustave’s hot breath run across her skin, close, and before he could do or say anything, she reached out and grazed her fingertips along his lips. He settled for pressing a kiss there instead and then beamed. “I’ll give you some bandages to take.”</p><p>Gustave took a step back and made his way over to one of the cupboards in the corner of the room. Taina stalked right after him. She pinched the sleeve of his GIGN uniform and gave the fabric a tug to cease his movements. Gustave froze.</p><p>“You’re going too then?” she asked.</p><p>“<em>Oui</em>.” Gustave hesitated before pivoting to confront her. “What’s the matter?”</p><p>Taina stood with her arms crossed and her eyes welded shut. She didn’t even know anything about the operation—not the operation name, nor its objective, not even its destination, or its projected timeline. Even in absence of those particulars, the bottom line was it all came back to her. Taina tried swallowing, but her mouth had gone desert dry. “You all are going because the Ghosts helped Rainbow locate me, and now they’re calling in the debt they’re owed. If anything goes wrong, the fault is automatically on me.”</p><p>Gustave chuckled and continued making his way to the cupboard. “What could go wrong? It sounded very standard.”</p><p>“Well now you’ve certainly gone and jinxed it.”</p><p>Gustave plucked a box of bandages from the shelf. He closed the cupboard door and returned to where Taina stood, still visibly upset. He handed her the small cardboard box. “It will be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”</p><p>“Be careful,” she said, paying no attention to the item extended to her.</p><p>Gustave smiled and inched his body closer to hers. “Are you worried about me?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>.” She spat the word out quick, like she tried to uphold some kind of farce she knew neither of them bought into. Caveira doesn’t worry. Taina Pereira—she swore she didn’t either. Not for herself, not for others, but she could feel that truth coming undone, crumbling under the weight of its own lie. <em>Yes.</em></p><p>“I will be careful,” Gustave said.</p><p>Gustave held the box of bandages closer to her. Almost poking her in the stomach. She snatched the box out his hand and shoved it right back in his face to point at him. “I’m not kidding!”</p><p>“No. I know, Taina—”</p><p>Taina hurled the box onto the counter behind him. “If you let anything happen to you while you’re there, I’m going to be so furious with you!”</p><p>Gustave gripped onto Taina’s curvy hips and yanked her closer until her body was flush with his. Her hands braced against his chest. Gustave’s heart beat in his chest, and she could feel it, like it beat directly into the palm of her hand. He moved to plant a kiss on her lips.</p><p>Taina flinched, her entire body reeling. Every muscle tense within his arms, and Gustave let her go like he had embraced a tower of flames. Confused and somewhat wounded eyes levelled her.</p><p>He’d caught her off guard. Again. She found it so easy to forget, to get lost in the abyss of what they were doing—when she was in control at least. The reciprocation, the moments where she was just as spellbound by him as he was by her, those moments screamed at her crystal clear: <em>this is so beyond your control.</em></p><p>She forced herself to smile through that frenzied thought. Hand clenching a fistful of his navy uniform, she tugged him to her and crashed her mouth onto his. The fervour swamping her immediately diminished when Gustave kissed her back. His lips conforming to hers yet somehow also commanding them, shifting the tide and slowing her down. Unhurried and deliberate. Utterly consuming in their gentleness, and she couldn’t take it.</p><p>Taina broke away. Instead she circled her hands around both of his wrists and dragged him with her, his paces mirroring each step she took backwards until her body bashed against the wall. The contact rattled her ribcage and almost knocked the wind out of her. A veil of lightheadedness shrouded her mind. She had no idea of the cause—the impact to the back of her head? The sensation of Gustave lacing his fingers between hers? His body pinning her against the wall?</p><p>The poorly insulated window next to her allowed a cool breeze to leak through the cracks. It soothed the embers under her skin. Gustave leaned in, aim deviating, and grazed his lips over her pulse right under her jaw.</p><p>“You should stop,” she managed to force out, but a whisper.</p><p>Gustave withdrew in an instant. “You want me to stop?”</p><p>“No.” Taina tried holding her breath just so she wouldn’t have to breathe him in and all at once undo the progress she had made. “But you should.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Her gaze scanned over his body, and she steadied her mind by counting the creases in the arms and shoulders of his uniform. Taina happily wore the mask of the bad guy. Always, to the extent that sometimes she swore it wasn’t even a mask at all—something permanently embedded deep under her skin, inside her being. Even still, not warning him seemed a cruelty she refused to commit to. She half-smiled, shaking her head at him, entrapped by her own honesty. “Because you’ll end up regretting it.” Taina was no good for him, that she knew. The <em>worst</em> thing, she’d argue. A force unable to be reckoned with.</p><p>“You don’t know that.”</p><p>“I know me,” she said.</p><p>Gustave warred with his own small smile. “I know you too.”</p><p>A frigid shock ripped through her. Taina’s eyes flashed back up to Gustave’s and stared back at him. The recollection flittered around her mind on a panicked breeze. ‘<em>I see you.</em>’ His sincerity, paralyzing. Fingers still interlocked with hers, he glided her hands up along the wall stopping near her head, leaving her truly paralyzed.</p><p>“Are you scared?” Gustave asked.</p><p>Taina blinked twice. A haughty scoff-filled laugh fleeing past her lips. The absurdity allowed her to regain herself, to bring back the self-assured smirk. Her head slanted to the left like a curious child lost in a big, big world. “Of what? You?” <em>Ridiculous</em>. It would be so easy. <em>So</em> easy. Despite his build. Despite his advantageous positioning. She didn’t even think she’d have to try that hard to escape the meagre hold he had her in. Two moves, and she could have him defenceless on the ground. If he didn’t fear her, she certainly had nothing to fear from him. Completely harmless.</p><p>Gustave ducked in closer, his nose skimming against hers. Captured in place, she could almost taste him, his lips just out of reach from hers but too far for her to take. “Of this,” Gustave whispered.</p><p>‘<em>I fear nothing.</em>’</p><p>Still not true. But for the moment, she didn’t have the willpower to let that fact matter.</p><p>Taina leaned in to capture his lips once more.</p><p>
  <em>Knock, knock, knock.</em>
</p><p>A wobbly exhale spewed from between her robbed lips. Taina cursed under her breath while Gustave chuckled at their own unfortunate timing, each staccato breath rippling against her face. He untangled his fingers from hers, palm skating down her arm before moving to her waist and hip and then breaking away.</p><p>“One moment,” Doc called out.</p><p>She gripped onto his uniform once more and tugged him back to her.</p><p>“Taina,” he said. “We’ll get caught—”</p><p>She flung her body at him, snaking her arms around his neck and forcing him to grab hold of her waist once more. His muscles, flexing. Taina brushed her lips to the mark under his lip and wove her fingers through his silky hair, as she had been craving to for so long, and whispered in his ear, “I locked the door.”</p><p>Gustave chuckled. They took their time sharing one final, deep kiss. Taina swore she could melt into him, but the moment ended too quick for such a fate. Gustave made his way over to the door of the medical bay. Taina strayed from the wall; there would be no way of explaining that to whomever entered. Her gaze flickered over to the dented box of bandages she had tossed onto the off-white counter. It could stay there. She knew where to find them if needed. And he knew where to find her if he wanted.</p><p>The click of the door unlocking caught her attention. Doc welcomed in Ash. Eliza, dressed in her FBI SWAT uniform, wasted no time entering the room and shotgunning a both bewildered and challenging look Taina’s way.</p><p>A cue to leave.</p><p>Taina flexed her fingers, forcing Ash’s attention to the bandages and her injury and a totally 100% innocent purpose for being in the room. Next she summoned a mediocre scowl, attempting to find her natural abrasive demeanour through the rush of dopamine. Eliza dodged Taina as she strode through the doorframe. “Thanks for everything, Doc,” she shouted while trying not to grin too much.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Velvet black filled the room. Weak marigold yellow from a nearby lamp busted the thick darkness. The bulb dying, its light still stung Taina’s eyes as they flickered open to meet her bedroom wall. The mattress under her body, the comforter brushing her skin, all suddenly making sense—she had fallen asleep. The floorboards creaked, moaning under a heavy weight. Sounds which perplexed her brain. Footsteps next to her bed. The clanks and rattles of heavy armour. Taina shifted, partially rolling over, enough to peer over her shoulder. A perfect box of bandages which had not been there before blocked the numbers on her alarm clock. Only a bright green glow against white cardboard remained within sight.</p><p>“Wait.”</p><p>The figure approaching her open door froze.</p><p>Taina flipped all the way over, stretching and yawning as she went. The footsteps approached once more. Gustave, she knew—even before she caught the light shining on his face. But when it did, the blood coursing through her quickened. The light casted sharp shadows over his angular face. He came to a stop next to her bed, his hands down at his side and skimming the edge of her comforter.</p><p>A familiar sight, the uniform. The armour, the padding and gear, the paddles strapped to his chest. She had seen him this way hundreds of times, but not like <em>this</em>. Not in her room. Not leaving her. Sure, he had gone on operations without her before just as she had gone on operations without him, but it never mattered before. A nauseating desire to kiss him flooded her. ‘<em>I hate this.</em>’ Noxious white noise washed over her; she had to remind herself to keep breathing.</p><p>Taina reached out to him, and he leaned in closer to her. She nudged the visor of his helmet up. The thick polycarbonate guard out of the way, she tried to smile at him.</p><p><em>‘Please come back.</em>’</p><p>“Be safe,” she said instead.</p><p>Gustave captured her hand in his. He already bore his signature white gloves, but that did nothing to impede his warmth from radiating through to her skin. Gustave pressed a kiss to her hand. She found herself grateful for the minor display—anything more and she knew she wouldn’t be able to take it. Taina flashed another elusive smile at him.</p><p>“<em>Au revoir</em>,” Gustave whispered.</p><p>“<em>Vai com Deus</em>,” she replied.</p><p>And she would pray to each and every God that he would return.</p><p>Her hand slipped out of his. Taina watched him walk across the room and crack open the door. Bright light from the hallway bled into her dark bedroom branding the image of a receding silhouette into her eyes. Gustave closed the door after him, and Taina found herself locked in the solitude. Then the nausea lashed at her all over again. For a different reason this time. The air wheezed out of her lungs; her muscles locked up, and a headache stormed her temples. Taina flopped over onto her stomach, both blinding and smothering herself in the fabric. ‘<em>God help me.’</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Disorder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rain. <em>Again.</em> A blustery rainstorm. It pelted the pane of glass in her bedroom as the gales sent moans through the building’s frame. Taina heard something—branches, leaves, who knew?—clattering outside against the window. She lay on her back, sheets and comforter in chaos, half on her, half draping off the mattress. She didn’t know how long she had been staring at the ceiling. Long enough for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Long enough to see patterns and faces in the spackle that didn’t really exist. <em>Patter, patter, patter.</em> As restless and incessant as her own thoughts.</p><p><em>Shut up</em>, she pleaded.</p><p>It had been two nights—two dreadfully long nights. Taina glanced at her alarm clock. 01:28. <em>Ugh.</em> Her attention returned to the ceiling, close to catatonic, and she gnawed on the inside of her cheek. She typically didn’t mind the storms. She had certainly started growing used to them in Hereford, but she knew it wasn’t the storm’s fault. The rain wasn’t keeping her up at night; it merely accompanied her.</p><p>Everything hammered irritation into her mind. The tail of her braid prodding into her back, the ache in her hands from trying to practicing hand-to-hand combat, the white noise droning in her ears. Taina’s jaw clenched.</p><p>Warmth and blood flooded her mouth, danced across her tongue. An unmistakable taste, the iron. Taina gagged and hauled herself into a sitting position. With a couple kicks, she broke free from the comforter and sheets restraining her like fabric shackles. The old and notoriously creaky floorboards emitted only a whisper under her weight. Taina crept into the lightless and quiet hallway. With less people and emptier rooms, even the ambient noise fell silent. Hands fiddling with the hem of the loose cotton t-shirt hanging from her body, she stalked through the darkness. A natural feeling. Meandering through the hallways, making a few turns until coming to a standstill in front of a single door—a door that looked like every other, a door she had committed to memory. Her hand rested on the doorknob. Blustering winds outside heaved against the building. She swallowed again, a mix of saliva and blood with a salty aftertaste. Then she entered the room, taking her time closing the door behind her as quietly as possible.</p><p>In the pitch black, Taina smiled to herself, revelling in the liberation the room provided. Just different. Maybe chillier. Maybe a placebo, the different arrangement of the room throwing her off. Or the lingering essence, something devoid from her own bedroom.</p><p>Taina shuffled barefoot, hand out in front of her as guidance, across the room until she felt the blanket of Gustave’s bed grazing her fingertips. She crawled onto the mattress and peeled back the blankets, methodic and precise—only the minimum required to slip underneath. ‘<em>Well… he said to consider myself welcome at any time.</em>’ She nuzzled her face into the pillow and smirked once more. The smell of him clung to it, to the sheets.</p><p>Her eyelids fluttered shut while each drop of rain whispered assurances and silenced the tension festering inside like a septic wound.</p><p>When Taina opened her eyes once more, daybreak clawed its way through the blinds and scorched her irises. Morning. The rain had ceased. Taina pushed herself up, elbows sinking deeper into the mattress, and she tried to shake the loose and rampant strands of hair out of her face. They clung with the sweat encasing her skin. Gustave’s alarm clock beside his bed read: 06:17.</p><p>Enough sleep to get through the day. Early enough to hopefully not get caught sneaking out.</p><p>Taina took her time making the bed back up. Tugging and tucking then resetting until no wrinkles remained. No traces of anything amiss. Ear to the bedroom door, she listened for any footsteps. Considering a much smaller group of them remained at Hereford, she spent two brief moments surveying before quickly ducking out of Gustave’s bedroom and marching back to her own. While his room compromised of warm, honey beige tones, her room served as an opposite. Steely, muted greys devoid of any colour saturation. When she entered, she found her bed a complete mess. The sheets and blanket lay half strewn across the floor, only one corner still cleanly preserved. Her body collapsed onto the mattress. Hunched over, elbows on her knees and head in her hands, her gaze perused the room—the light switch across from her, the closet she knew she’d have to rummage through soon, her alarm clock—06:25, the last roll of gauze still inside the box on her bedside table.</p><p>Her hands suddenly clenched around her own jaw. Despite having gotten some sleep, she felt it again.</p><p>It rose, a subconscious misgiving.</p><p>
  <em>Stop.</em>
</p><p>She thought maybe the sensation, the anxiety, would vanish once everyone had left, once some kind of distance had been established and the dissociation had settled like dust. But there it remained. Never vacating her being, not for long at least. And the days were taking their toll on her. Taina sprung up, tore open her closet, and plucked one of her BOPE uniforms off the hangers. Every ounce of her concentration poured into getting ready, from doing up every button of her uniform to braiding her hair as neat as possible. Her uniform, something to be shown off. Serving no legitimate purpose. A wall to put up—one that she hoped would smother the other side of her. So far probation mostly meant working out sprinkled in with some other kind of training, be it combat or simulations. ‘<em>I haven’t been to the range yet</em>,<em>’</em> Taina thought.</p><p>Meghan always worked out early in the morning, so Taina had adopted the habit of going later. Her hands balled into fists, automatic. She barely noticed her black nails delving into the flesh of her palm—instead all she noticed was the lack of pain at her knuckles. ‘<em>Maybe I can box today.</em>’</p><p>Then it lashed at her again. Some kind of malaise worming its way back to the surface. Taina rushed out of the room, feeling way too much of all things.</p><p>She needed to shoot something.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Taina clicked loose the magazine from inside her Luison, and gravity hauled it to the uneven terrain underfoot. The half-dead grass did nothing to cushion the impact. It smacked against the dirt with a thud and rattled the other spent magazine next to it. Fragments of sunlight trickled through the field of clouds occupying the grey sky. She flicked free her last magazine from the rig strapped to her chest, taking note of her chipped noir nail polish. Before she could take a mental note to redo it later, the cell phone in her pocket vibrated for the third time. ‘<em>Fuck. Leave me alone.</em>’ Taina jammed the fresh magazine into place. She tugged back the slide of her pistol and peered down the sights aimed directly at a dummy target.</p><p>“Caveira?”</p><p>Dried out grass crunched concurrent with approaching footfall behind her. Taina resisted the instinctual urge to pull the trigger at the sound of Meghan’s voice.</p><p>“Valkyrie.”</p><p>Meghan stifled her scoff with a fraudulent laugh. She came to a pause on Taina’s left, out of the way of an inevitable ejection of spent shell casings. In her peripheral vision, Taina could see that Meghan still bore her clothes from the gym—pale blue workout pants and a flimsy tank top exposing her sports bra, all of which showed off the entirety of her tribal tattoos. “I don’t know why,” Meghan said, “but I thought we should talk.”</p><p>“I don’t know why you thought that either.”</p><p>Taina fired her pistol four times, as rapid as she could. A robust grip on the gun suppressed the wild recoil, its frantic movements memorized. She ceased firing to try and study each bullet hole despite the distance.</p><p>“Jesus,” Meghan muttered. “Trying to have a conversation with you is so pointless.”</p><p>Taina couldn’t help it. Even seeing Valkyrie automatically triggered her adrenaline and put her on the offensive. Or the defensive? She didn’t know. Regardless, it frustrated her. The so-called <em>recent events</em> in Bolivia had wedged something between Taina and the indifference she so happily clung to. Meghan saw too much of her, and she didn’t know how to cope with that. Her index finger flirted with the pistol trigger. ‘<em>Just be civil</em>,’ she thought.Like it was that simple. Taina anchored her attention back on the sights of her pistol—a dummy head right in the crosshairs.</p><p>‘<em>I don’t mean to cause any trouble</em>,’ she could hear herself saying. A lucid memento of the past.</p><p>Meghan sighed next to her and the days-old response smashed through Taina’s memory once more. ‘<em>Then  you should have stayed home.</em>’</p><p>
  <em>Bitch.</em>
</p><p>Her teeth gnashed down on the inside of her right cheek. The already swollen flesh began spewing blood—exactly where she had been gnawing at before.</p><p>Taina fired. <em>Clink. Clink. Clink.</em> </p><p>Valkyrie scoffed, crossed her arms, and waited.</p><p>
  <em>Clink. Clink.</em>
</p><p>A swell of wind swept through the shooting range, spraying sand and small pebbles all over. They whipped at Taina’s face and her fingers, everything else covered by clothes or bandages. Even in the green Rainbow sweater she wore, a shiver ripped through her, and she felt goose pimples ripple all over her body.</p><p>Meghan scrubbed a hand across her face to brush the short blonde strands out of her eyes. “Do you—”</p><p>
  <em>Clink.</em>
</p><p>“Seriously—?”</p><p>
  <em>Clink.</em>
</p><p>Taina watched the weathered, black slide of her pistol spring forward after firing. She knew the last cartridge lay in waiting within the chamber. The end. Hesitating.</p><p>Meghan struck again. “Do you know how stupid it feels to have to pull every string just to track down someone who is supposed to be on your own team? To call in favours to rivals—for you, of all people?”</p><p>“Then you shouldn’t have gotten involved.”</p><p>“Unlike you, I follow orders,” Meghan said. “I respect my job.”</p><p>“Don’t you dare act like I don’t,” she snapped, seething. Taina loved her job. Some of the operators she worked with would probably argue she loved her job a little <em>too</em> much. And the worst thing she could think of doing for her job, for all of Rainbow, was dragging it into her family matters. </p><p>“Your little stunt could have done irreparable damage to Rainbow’s reputation!”</p><p>“Maybe,” Taina shouted back at her, “but my brother was <em>certainly</em> going to be killed.” She couldn’t comprehend her own exasperation. Taina knew nothing of Meghan’s family situation. Did she have siblings? She felt inclined to believe not, based on her reaction to everything. ‘<em>How do I make her understand?</em>’ Taina wondered. And then the grander question sunk in—why did she even <em>want</em> her to understand?</p><p>‘<em>Violating regulations in order to rescue your brother, that’s a very emotional response</em>,’ she could hear Harry saying, analyzing. ‘<em>Your identity.</em>’ Compromised<em>.</em></p><p>A wave of anxiety stormed her. That feeling, once again.</p><p>
  <em>I’m falling apart.</em>
</p><p>Something burrowed deep within her snapped. Taina lowered her pistol and held it down by her side, forgoing any trigger discipline. She turned and stepped closed to Valkyrie, predatory and aggressive, so quick she could have knocked Meghan over, and Taina wouldn’t care if she had either. “My brother was about to be executed by a drug cartel. A possible blemish on Rainbow’s reputation is just an acceptable risk. And you can have as many of these <em>talks</em> as you want with me, my opinion on that is never going to change.”</p><p>Valkyrie’s muscles flexed and then loosened. The breath caught in her lungs. Her eyes widening, brief thought it was. The way she backed away to establish space. And Taina observed every sign.</p><p>Fear.</p><p>Taina raised her arm, pistol pointed straight to the side.</p><p>‘<em>Fear has no true power</em>.’ An obsolete currency she still tried to buy security with.</p><p>Her stare never deviated from Meghan’s eyes. Taina fired her pistol, aiming near where she was certain a dummy stood and erring towards the ground just in case. The casing discharged and landed on the grass like a whisper. Empty. The pistol practically fell into the holster clipped to her thigh. Taina reached around, pivoting and swinging forward the M12 strapped to her body in one fluid motion. Already loaded, she flicked off the safety, aimed at one of the targets, and slammed the trigger down. </p><p>Burst after burst after burst. Echoing through the empty English fields. Never stopping until Meghan declined from her peripheral vision and only faint footsteps filled the quiet void between gunshots.</p><p>Taina let loose a few more sporadic bursts of bullets until she knew for sure Valkyrie was gone.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>The submachine gun slithered from her hands, and she let it dangle over her midsection by its strap. Nausea assaulted her senses, and she hunched over, hands on her hips, trying to recapture a steady breath.</p><p>
  <em>Stop it.</em>
</p><p>She didn’t regret saving João. And as she had told Valkyrie, nothing anyone said could make her change her mind. Nothing could make her doubt her methods either… in a vacuum—in a consequence free world. In a world where her fellow Rainbow operators didn’t have to travel across the world for God only knew what reason to do God knew what and face death because of that choice.</p><p>And that world was not her’s.</p><p>Her cell phone vibrated again. She rummaged a hand through her pocket and whipped out the device, eyes scanning the screen blown up with activity.</p><p>
  <em>Four missed calls from João Pereira.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>New voice message from João Pereira.</em>
</p><p>Gunfire echoed in her head.</p><p>Pocketing the cell phone, her eyes scanned all remnants of the damage she had done: the fresh holes and destruction in the field before her. The puddle at her feet—bullet casings; the image of blood flickered behind her eyes instead. </p><p>What if something happened to them? What if something happened to—</p><p>Taina wrenched her eyes shut as her thoughts seized. ‘<em>What?</em>’ she wondered. ‘<em>What would you do if something happened to him? If its your fault that he never comes back?</em>’</p><p>An irreconcilable question.</p><p>She clutched the submachine gun once more. Her grip tightened enough to crush the handles of the firearm, index finger hovering over the trigger. Trembling. Her entire world whirling out of control. Acid toiled in the pit of her stomach—a rugged desire to rip the bandages off her hands. To tear open the scabs piece by piece. To bleed. To stop<em>.</em> She just needed <em>something.</em> Or maybe she needed nothing. Absolute nothingness. Her thumb flicked to engage the safety, and Taina bolted out of the shooting range.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Taina fumbled out of the moonlit night and into the dormitory building, her body ping-ponging between the frame and and the door. “Oops!” She laughed at herself, to herself. Manic. Entirely <em>not</em> herself. Her body squished against the other side of the door to close it, head banging against the frigid vinyl, then rolled along the wall towards the kitchen. She couldn’t remember how much she had drank. All she knew was she was seeing triple of everything, and her limbs felt like froth, like they had dissolved from her body. That, and the saliva pooling in her mouth still tasted of rum.</p><p>One of the pantry doors still hung ajar. She had tore through her personal stash of alcohol early in the night. And with no stores open past midnight, the only other option was the bar. Taina kicked the cupboard closed with her combat boot. <em>Bang.</em> A black scuff marked the wood—invisible in the pitch black. “Shh!” she hissed at the object. She took mismatched steps all the way to her room. Dragging steps, stomping steps. Crooked ones and baby steps, she fumbled her way through the hallways lacking any illumination until she made it to her bedroom door. Taina’s hands rummaged through the shallow pockets of her black leather jacket. Her elbow nudged the door open then flicked on the light.</p><p>“<em>Puta merda!</em>”</p><p>She slammed her blinded eyes shut—not enough to murder the painful artificial light still stabbing through her eyelids. She rammed her back against the door to close it. Hand gripping whatever she found in her right pocket, she yanked the object out. Her eyes popped open to check. </p><p>Switchblade.</p><p>The item dribbled out of her grip and thudded against the hardwood floor.</p><p>She tore the other hand out of her pocket and checked.</p><p>Taina grinned. </p><p>Flask.</p><p>Swiping her phone from the back pocket of her skin-tight jeans, she tossed both objects onto the bed and then wormed her way out of her coat—the easiest article of clothing. Even still, sweat plastered the lining to her arms and her spine where whatever low back shirt she had chosen dipped down. A challenge, but she escaped. Leaning over to untie the laces of her boots sliced a seismic level migraine through her brain. She crashed and tumbled trying to remove her jeans. And when she was down to her strappy bralette and underwear, she couldn’t be bothered with putting anything else on. Taina laughed to herself again as she bellyflopped onto the mattress. The flask bounced up and down at the sudden displacement before sliding down and coming to rest against her arm. Hair out for once, strands sailed around her. Wild and frizzy from plucking her braid apart and tearing her fingers through the roots and whipping her head to some song that had played at the pub.</p><p>It took her two tries to flip over and sit up.</p><p>Uncoordinated hands unscrewed the cap of the flask bearing the flag of Brazil and flicked the lid off. Taina shot back a mouthful. The rich yet sharp taste of pure 40% ABV rum she had beguiled the bartender into supplying went unnoticed to her shot senses. The lid remained open, flask available in her left hand. Ready. On standby. She still needed it.</p><p>Even heavily intoxicated she knew that. </p><p>Her hand found her cell phone. Taina dragged her thumb over the icons of the keypad—a sequence ingrained into her muscle memory. Code. 1. 1. She pressed the speakerphone button next. Another swig then she listened. </p><p>“Taina, it’s your brother,” João said in rushed Portuguese. “Please, don’t ignore me again! I’m sorry about everything. Call me back, please. You left before we could talk. I couldn’t even thank you. I couldn’t even apologize. I’m sorry for getting you in trouble. I’m sorry you had to save me again. <em>I’m sorry</em>, T. Please, call me back.”</p><p>A war commenced in her lungs, a fight to inhale, to breathe. To persist and not just hold her breath until she died. Taina shifted her blurred vision to the clock that read 03:18. Then, the single box of bandages on the bedside table. Her nightly idol. Taina took another gulp from her flask. A chuckle and half a whimper amalgamated into a low, squeaky noise. </p><p>“To listen to this message again,” the automatic voice blaring from her phone said, “press—”</p><p>
  <em>Beep.</em>
</p><p>“Taina, it’s your brother. Please, don’t ignore me again! I’m sorry about everything. Call me back, please…”</p><p>Taina’s lips moved in synch with João’s words engrained in her brain. The Portuguese blurring into a lagging mumble. Only fragments of diction. Her shaking hand raised the flask once more and dumped another shot of its contents into her wide open mouth. The lukewarm liquid spilled over her tongue; it shot down her throat. She gagged on the astringent burn edging on her windpipe, but she swallowed the entire mouthful in one breath. </p><p>And in that moment she vowed to never feel anything again. “Mmm. Sounds good,” she slurred. </p><p><em>‘I didn’t feel anything anyways,</em>’ she convinced herself.</p><p>
  <em>Beep.</em>
</p><p>João’s voice filled her stuffy bedroom. “Taina, it’s your brother. Please, don’t ignore me again! I’m sorry about everything. Call me back, please. You left before we could talk. I couldn’t even thank you.”</p><p>
  <em>You say thank you for holding open a door.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You say thank you for doing a simple favour.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s the same thing.</em>
</p><p>“I couldn’t even apologize. I’m sorry for getting you in trouble. I’m sorry you had to save me again. <em>I’m sorry</em>, T. Please, call me back.”</p><p><em>‘You’re my blood</em>,’ she thought to herself as if rehearsing to speak to him. As if he could hear her thoughts from a thousand miles away.</p><p>
  <em>You’re my blood. You’re my blood. You’re my blood.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’re my blood.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’re my blood. I wasn’t worried.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It shouldn’t bother me. It doesn’t bother me.</em>
</p><p><em>You’re my blood. He’s my blood. It’s fine.</em> </p><p>She threw her head back to take another drink. Silence swamped her ears, plugged with nothingness. Just awful pressure. A few drops fell from the silver spout of the flask and trickled onto her tongue.</p><p>Empty.</p><p>Taina jerked the flask around, trying to shake out some remnants. </p><p>Empty. </p><p>“<em>Foda-se!</em>” She tossed the flask to the foot of her bed. “<em>Monte de merda!</em>”</p><p>She scrubbed her wrist against her cheek, erasing something. Sweat. Tears. She neither knew nor cared. Whatever it was absorbed into the bandages that clung to her bare arms. Her fingertips grazed along the scratchy fabric. Ragged and staggered breaths deafened her. And then she began ripping at the wrappings around her left hand. Frantic movements. Nails scratching into her skin. The gauze wanting to tear under her force. It cuffed against her skin, sinking deeper with each pull until her hand broke free from the bandage. </p><p>A shriek balled in the middle of her throat.</p><p>Taina swiped at the box of bandages and pitched it all the way across the room. The cardboard crashed into the door, rebounded onto the floor, and glided to a stop. One remaining ribbon of gauze rolled across the hardwood and ceased against her abandoned switchblade.</p><p>The exertion left whiteness strobing behind her eyes—a head rush followed by another wave of splitting pain through her brain. Taina wheezed, still struggling to breathe properly. She collapsed back onto the bed once more. Impossible to feel where her back ended and the mattress began. Impossible to feel anything at all. Her hand surged into the air. Grasping at nothing, reenacting a brief layer of time. She closed her eyes and pretended she could still feel Gustave’s lips brushing against her fingertips, that she could feel anything at all.</p><p>Instead of being vacant—body and mind.</p><p>Her arm flopped back down, landing on her midsection. With numb fingertips, she traced a swirling line from her abdomen to her navel until her palm perfectly curved around her hip bone.</p><p>Taina’s head lolled to the side. To the door, where she could see the image of Gustave leaving on replay, rewinding and rushing forwards over and over. Her gaze flickered to the bandages crumbled on the hardwood floor. A sight barely visible through the water welling in her eyes, manifesting like some kind of hazy mirage.</p><p>Staring at the ceiling instead, her hand slipped under the band of her black underwear.</p><p>
  <em>I’ll never feel anything again later.</em>
</p><p>She reached down between her legs. Fingertips frigid, her own touch exploding chills over her skin. Taina’s eyes flickered shut, kicking out the hot, stinging tears and sending them coasting down the sides of her face. Past her temple. Through her hairline.</p><p>An inhalation hitched in her lungs and bled out, staggered, through her open mouth while her fingertips massaged her clitoris. Her mind tried to unlock the sensations tucked away inside the dark chest of dangerous memories. To remember how it felt beyond the numbness taking over her. Gustave’s low, gravelly voice. The taste of him. His lips against her skin. A whimper slipped by, body twitching. She let herself drown in the sound of her own ragged breaths, her body’s own self-gratification, and the blazing red burning behind her closed eyes until it all ended—until she passed out into a dream where everything was fine, and he was hers to keep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Impulse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! Just some miscellaneous notes:<br/>1) Happy one month (and a couple days) anniversary everybody! Thank you for continuing on this journey with me. I was initially hesitant about posting this story, but I’m glad I did since you all seem to be enjoying and have been very supportive. Thank you and much love.<br/>2) I’m going to be away for a few days but the next chapter should be up within a week.<br/>3) If anyone happens to still be on tumblr, please be my friend. Same username!<br/>4) This type of writing is not my forte.<br/>5) Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The crimson suspended punching bag rocked like a pendulum through the air even after Taina had abandoned it. Legs splayed, she fell back until she lay sprawled over the gym floor, staring at the bright white lights installed into the ceiling. Music blaring in her ears agitated the migraine behind her left eye—8 P.M., and the effects of the hangover still plagued her. One after the other, her hands shimmied out of the boxing gloves. Fingers free, her index curled around the cord of her worn out black earbuds and plucked them both out. Peace—only inhales and exhales, small creaks, and a low, nearly inaudible hum. The gym’s air conditioning soothed the heat radiating off her sweat-covered skin. Taina held her hands up in the air above her face, and she hooked a pinkie into the edge of the bandage around her other knuckles and pulled. Red hot skin glowed. Irritated, inflamed, but she found no blood, and the scabs appeared intact. Taina heaved herself back up into a sit and tugged her gym bag closer to rummage through its contents. Emergency spare clothes. A water bottle, which she withdrew and set aside. Her sweater. A switchblade.</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p>Taina captured the knife in the palm of her hand. Thumb already pressing the button, the blade flicked out, light glinting off the metallic tip. She stared at it. Wistful. Eager. Recalling the way the blade had felt in her hands days ago. The thrill it gave her—until that thrill became inadequate. ‘<em>And now here I am.</em>’ Miserable. A disaster. Worried out of her mind, feeling like someone she didn’t know or recognize.</p>
  <p>‘<em>Stick to knives and not people</em>,’ Taina advised herself.</p>
  <p>She closed up the weapon, locking the blade back into place. Never letting go of it, she twisted the lid off her water bottle, took a gulp, and put her MP3 player away. After cleaning up the area and slipping back into the comfort of her sweater, Taina marched, head down, out of the gym and made her way back towards the dormitory building. Her hand fiddled inside her pocket, turning the switchblade over. Meanwhile, her other hand withdrew her cell phone. A couple taps, and then she raised it to her ear. “Taina, it’s your brother,” the message droned. “Please, don’t ignore me again! I’m sorry about everything. Call me back, please.”</p>
  <p>The sight of green-blue hair caught Taina’s attention only as the woman passed her in the otherwise empty hallways. “Ela,” she said, nodding, trying to be polite.</p>
  <p>“Cav.”</p>
  <p>“Wait—” Taina froze in the middle of the hallway, pulling her phone away. Taina whirled to face Ela. The gym bag hanging on her left shoulder slipped down to her forearm at the jarring movement. “Weren’t you on the operation?”</p>
  <p>Ela, still dressed in her army green-accented GROM uniform, didn’t stop. Instead she turned and slowed her pace, walking backwards. “Yeah. Just got back.”</p>
  <p>“When?”</p>
  <p>“Half hour ago?”</p>
  <p>Taina swallowed the thick something balling at the back of her throat. “And?”</p>
  <p>Ela smirked while shrugging. “Boring.” She completed her spin and continued on down the hallway. </p>
  <p>Boring. </p>
  <p><em>‘Boring is good. Boring is safe.</em>’ Boring meant no mortal wounds, no death, no crises. Her pace quickened, legs trembling in response to the demand, at the anticipation and the weight of whatever rollercoaster she found herself on.</p>
  <p>Taina upped her speed from a brisk walk to a semi-sprint.</p>
  <p>She entered the dormitories and found a cluster of people congregating in the kitchen which reeked. A smorgasbord of scents: sharp spices, savoury tomatoes, garlic, something umami-like—fish sauce perhaps. Valkyrie chatted with Maestro, Lesion, and Capitão near the fridges. Taina hitched the red strap of her gym bag higher up on her shoulder before squeezing past them. “Welcome back,” she said to the three men. A few steps forward and Taina could peer into the commons area. A herd of them occupied the space—sitting, standing. Talking, listening. Taina came to a standstill, and her eyes scanned the room, seeking out that familiar face. She didn’t have to search hard.</p>
  <p>While all the other operators watched Echo as he told some grand story, Gustave’s stare settled right on her.</p>
  <p>She stepped deeper into the room, sidling up to where Mira stood in a desperate attempt to feel less out of place. An odd mix of people: some in casual clothing. Some wearing uniforms, some of them still had armour clinging to them. Taina paid no attention to them though. Gustave sat in one of the padded arm chairs. His hands, donning stark white gloves, gripped onto his helmet. The helmet itself rested on his lap, between his knees covered with padded guards. Vest, still lined with everything: metal paddles, pouches of medical equipment, magazines. His face—no blood, no bruising, no cuts. Pristine. His eyes anchored on her, like he vowed to memorize every inch of her being.</p>
  <p>Everyone laughed at the punchline of Echo’s story, and Taina huffed out a semi-chuckle to fit in. Echo leaned back in his seat, satisfied with the results of his tale. “Hey, Cav,” he said, seeing that she had joined the crowd.</p>
  <p>“Welcome back.” Taina fired a rampant glance around the room, trying not to settle on any one person. “In one piece and everything.”</p>
  <p>“Despite Vigil’s best efforts,” Echo added.</p>
  <p>Vigil shot up from the couch he shared with Dokkaebi. Taina noticed the woman intentionally avoiding to look in her general vicinity. Vigil bolted out of the commons room, brushing right past her, and muttered, “I’m so sick of hearing this story.”</p>
  <p>A smile broke upon her face. Catching everyone up on missions was always a joy. Taina couldn’t wait to be off probation, to be able to go on operations again. To have some kind of story to tell. She needed to regain her sense and sanity first, and the best way to do that, she knew, was to not get involved with a fellow operator. Her gaze drifted. Unconscious, subliminal. Gustave’s dark, warm eyes peered into hers despite the distance, like he was gazing into her mind blustering with thoughts. Her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip. ‘<em>Don’t fall for him</em>,’ Taina ordered herself. ‘<em>Don’t touch him. Don’t do anything. Just stay away.</em>’ Taina turned back to Echo, braid lashing against the skin of her neck, and sent him a nod. The two of them always had an understanding. “You’ll have to tell me all about it sometime,” she said, gripping the strap of her gym bag. </p>
  <p>Taina backed out of the commons room, sending another glance Gustave’s way. A glance saying ‘<em>come find me</em>’ despite the voice in her head screaming ‘<em>stop.</em>’ She pivoted and strode towards the hallway.</p>
  <p><em>Don’t.</em> </p>
  <p>But she couldn’t help herself—she glanced over her shoulder one final time to find Gustave’s eyes scanning her body up and down.</p>
  <p>A chilling rush tingled like pins and needles underneath her skin, through her veins, under her nails—everywhere. Action. Thoughtless. <em>Here it comes.</em> Taina marched through the hallway, glancing down the path to her own room and utterly disregarding its existence. Distant footsteps thumped behind her, but a quick shoulder-check proved no one was there. With no one in front of her either, she squandered no time wrenching the door knob and entering Gustave’s bedroom. By choice leaving the door ever-so-slightly ajar. Almost unnoticeable.</p>
  <p>A subtle sign for him.</p>
  <p>
    <em>Stop it.</em>
  </p>
  <p>Taina lowered the black and red gym bag onto the hardwood floor off to the side without a noise. She hunched over it, unzipped the lid, and stuffed her hand into the pocket of her sweater. Her skin, so chilled the switchblade's silver metal barely registered against her fingers. She withdrew her hand and observed the weapon. ‘<em>What happened to sticking to knives and not people?</em>’ The switchblade tumbled out of her grasp and into the bag. </p>
  <p>Next her quivering fingers ripped at the edges of her bandage, unwrapping the gauze from her left hand. ‘<em>Think of how miserable you’ve been.</em>’</p>
  <p>She had been. Sickeningly so, but it didn’t matter now. Before she had no power. Just a victim of circumstance. But not anymore. </p>
  <p>What remained of daylight bled into the room. A palette of hues—reds and oranges and yellows. Enough light for her to find the garbage can against the wall. Taina dropped her bandage into the bin and then moved onto her right hand. Footsteps in the hallway caught her attention. Taina paused where she stood and waited. A loud squeak sounded near the door and the footsteps continued down the hallway. She unwound the bandage from her right hand. The heat and sweat eased up until the last strip of gauze fell away. Cool air danced along her skin, refreshing. Taina wriggled her fingers, stretching and bending with pure liberation, and grazed her right index finger along her left palm to remember what it felt like. The skin, fresh and sensitive—raw. Even her own touch sent a thrill through her. ‘<em>What it must feel like for—’</em></p>
  <p>Taina balled her hands into fists and shoved them into her sweater pockets. <em>I shouldn’t be here</em>, she thought as she sat down on the edge of Gustave’s bed. Correct, she shouldn’t. But Taina Pereira always committed to her course of action—planned or unplanned. After all, skulls never quit. And as something fiery riled her up and knotted deep inside, desire possessed her. She needed this. She needed him—in some capacity, in <em>any </em>capacity. To touch him, to see him, just to hear him on her own. To be seen again. </p>
  <p>The door creaked open.</p>
  <p>Gustave entered the room, securing the door behind him with one hand. His other hand still gripped onto his helmet. Taina’s hands clenched inside her sweater pockets, and the hardened, jagged edges of her scabs snagged on the fuzzy fleece. She watched Gustave lean down to rest his helmet right next to her gym bag—a neutral enough response for her to rise. “That offer of welcome still stands?” she asked.</p>
  <p>A small smile flashed, flirting with the corners of his lips. “<em>Oui.</em>”</p>
  <p>Some primal force pulled her towards him. Each step she took wedged that perilous chill deeper into her marrow. <em>Thud</em>. Power. <em>Thud</em>. Control—she felt it all transfer from her mind into her body. Every thought, terminal. From sense into chaos. What would she do? Even she didn’t know. She could do anything<em>.</em> Touch him. Kiss him. Shove him. Kill him, if she were quick and precise like she could be. <em>Anything.</em></p>
  <p>
    <em>Thud.</em>
  </p>
  <p>All movement halted directly in front of him. Their gazes locked. Gustave’s hot breaths lapped against her skin. The hazy light darkened around them throughout the room, and flecks of ember orange glimmered in Gustave’s eyes. Beautiful. The air in her lungs dissipated.</p>
  <p>
    <em>Anything.</em>
  </p>
  <p>Taina lurched forward and flung her arms around his neck, holding onto him as tight as she could without causing any major discomfort. A minuscule gasp escaped Gustave’s lips. Her face, buried in the crook of his neck so all she breathed in was him. His skin boiled against hers. Taina didn’t normally hug people. She couldn’t even recall the last time she had done so, and she slowly remembered why—it was kind of awful. The weird angle of her arms caused the muscles to twitch. The corner of Gustave’s radio jabbed into the sensitive flesh under her right bicep. Both defibrillator paddles bashed against her right breast with a shocking dose of pain. But as Gustave's arms circled around her waist, keeping her close, she felt only safety. Her fingers combed through the thin hairs at the nape of his neck. The silky strands, a whole physical experience. </p>
  <p>“You’re okay?” she whispered.</p>
  <p>“As promised.”</p>
  <p>Taina backed away enough to withdraw her arms from around Gustave’s neck only to cup her hands along either side of his jaw. She crashed her mouth onto his. The taste of him, an elixir to be intoxicated by. Gustave’s arm tightened around her. His fingers delving into the skin padding her hips, other hand running up along her spine. She kissed him again, deeper and demanding. Gustave sighed into Taina’s mouth. The stubble sprinkled over his cheeks and jaw, already grown more than usual for him, prickled against the ripe skin of her palm.</p>
  <p>Fingertips against the bottom of his cheek, Taina broke away and stole a moment just to catch her breath. The amour clinging to Gustave’s body rattled, a ripple from him loosening his hold on her. She grazed the pad of her thumb across his lower lip, hot. Tantalizing. The Adam’s Apple protruding from his throat bobbed with a charged swallow.</p>
  <p>Taina withdrew her hands from his body. The silver tag of her sweater wavered at her sharp exhale. Then she pinched it between her thumb and forefinger. The metal creaked as the zipper undid—a prolonged, predatory purr in the quietness. The sound hushed Gustave’s errant breaths. She tugged at the neckline, and with a shrug of her shoulders, the sweater slipped off her body and onto the hardwood floor. Next she reached down to the buttons of her BOPE uniform. All while monitoring his everything. His lively eyes, the curve of his lips, the slope of his eyebrows. The way he watched her. Taina flicked the top grey button out of its loop.</p>
  <p>Nothing.</p>
  <p>He wasn’t going to stop her. And she certainly wasn’t going to stop herself.</p>
  <p>Each button grew easier and easier to pop open. Her fingers attacked another one. And then Gustave’s hand, still covered in latex, captured hers, forcing Taina to stop. A foreign dread overwhelmed her<em>.</em> She could feel her eyebrows sinking, a frown that betrayed her. Taina bit down easily on her still swollen cheek, snuffing out any visible disappointment and channelling the best unaffected visage she could. Gustave gave her hands a gentle swipe and then his fingertips fiddled with the button over her stomach instead. The second last one.</p>
  <p>She peered back up at him—a smirk occupied his lips. “Allow me,” he said, hushed.</p>
  <p>He undid the button with ease. A slight tug on either side of her shirt and Gustave popped the final button undone, tugging her body closer to his. He peeled back the fabric of her uniform, easing it off her shoulders. Enough for her to thrash her way out. Arms free, she gripped onto the edges of his vest, yanked him closer, and kissed him. </p>
  <p>Meaningless footsteps banged outside in the hallway. She had forgotten her fellow operators existed. She forgot about Rainbow. About Bolivia. About power and fear. Consequence. Swept up in the moment, all of that evaporated into a nothingness that couldn’t harm her.</p>
  <p>Gustave’s hand curved around her cheek. The latex chilled the fire burning there. Taina stepped back, flinching away from his touch. One hand clutched a fistful of her grey tank top’s hem, and she tore it off over her head. Gustave glanced down, quick and devious. Exposed, cool air whispered against her bare skin. Her hip bones, her midsection, everything not covered by her sports bra. Taina reached out and hooked her finger around the red, buckled strap securing one of the pouches on his vest. She used it as leverage to lean in and give him a quick peck.</p>
  <p>“Catch up,” she whispered against his lips.</p>
  <p>Taina spun around and walked over to the bed, twiddling with the fastening of her pants. After plopping down onto the edge of the bed, she hunched forward and clawed at the sloppy laces of her combat boots. She tore them off one at a time, leaving her socks tucked inside. When she sat upright once more, Gustave had removed only his boots and knee pads. She leaned back, bemused, trying not to laugh. “In need of assistance?”</p>
  <p>Gustave waved an index finger at her. “Patience.”</p>
  <p>“You know I possess none.”</p>
  <p>Taina strode over to him, the zip and button of her trousers hanging open, abandoned. She joined him once more. Close, close enough to kiss him, to breathe in his air. Taina smirked. Hand extending down, she skimmed up along the inside of his thigh. Gustave’s jaw clenched at her touch. Taina chuckled, and her hand eventually settled on the clip securing the leather pistol holster to his leg. </p>
  <p>“Just lending a hand,” she said with a lilt—facetious innocence.</p>
  <p>“Ah, well <em>merci</em> then.” He landed a quick kiss to her lips, reaching around her to peel off the gloves from his hands without causing interruption. He shifted to pull apart the sides of his vest next, and then suddenly he said, “Taina?”</p>
  <p>“Yeah?”</p>
  <p>“Are we— good?”</p>
  <p>Taina averted her gaze. She memorized the movements of her hand pinching the last clip around his right thigh instead. “You’re asking like you don’t know my entire medical history.”  </p>
  <p>She leaned forward to kiss him again, partially just to shut him up. The velcro layered under his vest ripped through the quiet as he continued working. Taina broke away, immediately reaching down to his left thigh and clicking loose the clip securing the drop leg pouch attached to his vest. </p>
  <p>When she glanced back up, he said to her, “No, I know. I mean for contraception. I don’t have any—”</p>
  <p>Taina stifled her groan, eyes bulging, face flushing. “IUD’s still in. We’re fine,” she blurted out before seizing his mouth with hers. Of all people, she picked a doctor. One of the rare classes of people who wouldn’t just fuck her with no questions asked. While she wouldn’t have it any other way, she wished he would stop asking questions about her body and start taking advantage of it instead. Indulging in it. Exploring it. Ravaging it. She quickly ripped at the straps securing Gustave’s shoulder pads to his biceps, allowing him to finally pull the vest up and over his head. “Any other questions?”</p>
  <p>Gustave’s left hand clenched in the roots of her hair with a pleasurable roughness, tugging at her braid. His other hand settled against her lower back, the pressure clasping her body to his. His forehead rested against hers—their noses brushing, mouths open and dangerously close. Too close to not act. Torturing her.</p>
  <p>“Are you sure about this?” he asked.</p>
  <p>With her eyes closed, her sights were denied. Her sense of taste robbed too. Just his low and husky voice unlike anything she had heard before filling her ears. Taina’s head tilted up half a degree. Enough for her lips to skim against his, thumb coaxing along his cheekbone dusted with scratchy, short hairs. Her other hand tugged on the zipper of his military coveralls—down, down, all the way to his navel. An answer. </p>
  <p>“Are you?” Taina whispered.</p>
  <p>Gustave ducked away an inch, and her eyes slipped open at the mere absence of his skin. Compassionate, riveting eyes veered from her eyes to her lips. In a split second, his eyes flickered back up to hers. “<em>Oui</em>,” he breathed out before his lips collided with hers. Gustave’s arms hooped around her waist, forcing her closer until their bodies crashed together. “Yes,” he repeated, and he stole another kiss.</p>
  <p>Taina leaned into him, kiss growing deeper until her ravenous lips teased his apart, and his mouth was her’s to conquer. Starting by stroking her tongue against his, drinking him down. She undid the rest of his uniform’s zipper and then tore back the shoulders, yanking the sleeves down until his wrists broke free from the elastic bands. They fumbled their way to the bed as one. Taina pushed the blue coveralls down past his hips then shucked off her own pants and underwear. Hands working quicker, edging on frantic. Her fingers scraped down Gustave’s chest, but she felt cotton instead of searing bare skin. Eyes popping open, she confirmed—a t-shirt still clinging to his body, and she huffed. The whole process like a drawn out execution killing her slowly. She helped Gustave remove the article. Wrestling her way out of her black sports bra proved more challenging. Ripping it off over her head, the bunched up and resistant fabric tugged at the tail of her braid. With the flick of her wrist, it hurtled to the hardwood.</p>
  <p>She crawled backwards up onto the mattress and laid herself down. Gustave’s naked body settled in between her thighs where a lecherous ache resided. His skin, scorching against hers. A cinder. Taina focused on exploring Gustave’s mouth with her tongue and on her hands roaming foreign territories of bare skin.</p>
  <p>One quick motion then Taina felt him enter her. </p>
  <p>Her eyes shot open—wide, thrilled. Something of a gasp ripped out of her lungs. <em>It’s been a while</em>, she thought to herself. And there was a reason for that, which she opted to ignore. They peered into each other’s eyes. Gustave smirked at her. She knotted her fingers through his salt and pepper hair, just long enough to clench a handful of. An airy chuckle rushed from her parted lips before she pulled him in for a kiss and rocked her hips against his. Gustave groaned into her mouth. Then he thrusted into her, harder. Again and again, faster. Goosebumps washed over the skin of her arms in waves.</p>
  <p>‘<em>Why is he doing this?</em>’ The voice in the back of her head, alive and well. Some rational part of her couldn’t help but join in. Why <em>her</em>? He didn’t strike her as the friends with benefit type. The ‘screw as you please’ type. ‘<em>So what is he doing?</em>’</p>
  <p>‘<em>What am </em>I<em> doing?</em>’</p>
  <p>The leaden reality of the moment imploded on her.</p>
  <p>Taina poured her every conscious thought into something else instead, anything else. On Gustave’s fingers clamped around her thigh. His lips roaming underneath her jaw. His tongue grazing along her skin. Her own breaths, deafening in her ears.</p>
  <p>
    <em>This is out of control.</em>
  </p>
  <p>Taina slipped her left hand up Gustave’s back. Palm curving along the flexing muscles. Her nails, driving down into the skin over his thick, bare shoulder. Gustave pressed deeper into her. Her teeth gnashed down on her bottom lip—a desperate attempt to steady her breathing. To maintain control. To not succumb the ecstasy building up. But she couldn’t.</p>
  <p>One small moan, low and primal.</p>
  <p>
    <em>Disorder.</em>
  </p>
  <p>Gustave’s thumb gently bushed along her cheek, triggering her eyes to open. He stalled his movements just so he could place a kiss on her lips, and she let him. Kissing him back, grip on him diminishing. After a moment, she broke away. A wild, devious smirk ignited on her lips. Gustave only had time to raise his eyebrows before she took advantage.</p>
  <p>Taina maneuvered her arms and legs—swift, deliberate movements, and she flipped him off her body in an instant with ease despite his size over. Gustave dropped beside her onto the mattress. She climbed over top of him, adjusting her hips over his until she felt him inside her once more. Gustave gaped, wide eyed. She’d made a mess of his hair—unnoticeable in the shadowy aftermath of sunset. But against his beige sheets, the dark strands streaked with silvery white protruded to the side.</p>
  <p>“How do you do that?” he asked.</p>
  <p>She ran her hands along the muscles of his arms until she could grab hold of his wrists and pin him down. Taina sighed. <em>Control</em>. Except not. A facade. A mirage she indulged in—irrelevant though it was. She knew it didn’t matter anymore. Regardless of any further choices, she knew they had already sent shockwaves flying. And it would hurt like hell.</p>
  <p>Taina slouched forward until she could press her lips to Gustave’s. “Can’t tell.”</p>
  <p>With that, she sat back up and bucked her hips against his. Hard, fast, constant. She had to remind herself to slow down. To revel in it, her disaster.</p>
  <p>A wanderlust steered her hands: gripping onto the sides of his torso, bracing against the carved muscles along his abdomen, skating up his chest sheeted with dark hairs. Rising and falling with his ragged breaths. Her left hand eventually draped over his, anchored at her hips and pulling them closer with each rolling motion. She stole his hand and guided him, craving more. Needing his touch—a hunger never satisfied. Over her waist, along her rib cage, up to her chest. Urging his palm against her left breast. Gustave obeyed, feeling her. He brushed his thumb over her hardened nipple in swirling circles. </p>
  <p>Her eyes fluttered shut—wincing, euphoric, stifling her sigh into a guttural exhale. She ground her hips harder against him. Gustave’s groans increased and she swore she heard him whisper her name.</p>
  <p>Close.</p>
  <p>“Shh,” she tried to whisper. The command slipped past her lips as a trembling sigh. Movements quickening. So close. Taina leaned over him to watch, hand resting along his collarbone. The frenzied pulse beating, savage, under her fingertips. She scrubbed her tender lips against his jaw, stubble scraping. His body quaking under hers. Waiting for the moment.</p>
  <p>Gustave inhaled, sharp and violent. </p>
  <p>Taina clamped her hand over his mouth, swift.</p>
  <p>She could feel it. His breaths against her palm, the low vibrations rattling through her skin as he moaned his way through his orgasm. Her eyes studied his—a high in its own right. Pupils slightly dilated even in the darkness, wide then rolling back then wide again. Focused directly on her. The sight forced her over the edge.</p>
  <p>Her teeth crashed down on her bottom lip. Trying to control herself. Biting so hard she swore she may bleed. Gustave wrapped his arm around her back and clutched her closer to him. Filling her once more. Then she couldn’t take anymore. Her head stooped, buried in the crook of his neck, and she unleashed everything, groaning into his skin. Muffled. Her body quivering in a final release.</p>
  <p>Their harsh and unsynchronized breaths filled the silence, eating at the white noise that buzzed in her ear. Taina raised her head. A frantic movement which ran cool air against the light sweat coating her face, plastering errant strands of hair to her temple. Gustave, smiling, caressed her flushed cheek before gathering her in for a deep kiss. <em>‘This is bad,’</em> she thought, ‘<em>and we’re not even finished yet.</em>’</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Self-Deception</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taina wasn’t certain how much time had passed. Could have been minutes. Could have been hours. They’d been at it a while—exhausted and worn ragged only to start back up again and repeat—but she was certain Gustave had fallen asleep this time. He hadn’t moved next to her for quite a while. <em>Good</em>, she thought. Coming back from operations always left everyone fatigued both mentally and physically… never mind what they had been doing. Taina memorized the peaceful, slumbering figure beside her and smirked. ‘<em>The man’s got stamina</em>.’ His inhales and exhales—slow, deep, calm. Soothing. The tune almost lulled her into a tranquil sleep of her own, but her mind waded through troubling thoughts at a thousand miles an hour. And staring at the ceiling served no beneficial purpose. Taina took her time shifting to the right until her body separated from Gustave’s. Limbs no longer intertwined, skin free from contact with his, she glanced over at him to check—eyes still closed, brows tipped happily upward, perfectly still. All clear.</p><p>She sat up slowly. The bed barely made a noise in protest of her movements—one single spring sighing. Under the sheets, she bundled her legs up to her chest, crossed arms nestling above the comforter atop her knees. ‘<em>Hell of a situation you’ve put yourself into, Taina</em>,’ she thought.All this while still not having cleared probation. While still having to speak to Harry, <em>again</em>—that hell wasn’t even completely finished yet. Eyes fluttering shut, her head drooped.</p><p>Making more waves, constantly. Somehow. Maybe that's just what she did. As if all those consequences wouldn’t suffice, like they didn’t drag her through enough of a hell. </p><p>Something grazed her back, warmth sprouting along her skin. Taina recoiled, posture stiffening from hunched to straight.</p><p>Gustave’s hand ran up her spine. Then he traced a curved line down. Fingers dancing along her skin, parallel to the large, raised, and red scar tissue stretching along her left shoulder blade. “Does this hurt?”</p><p>“If I say yes, you’ll make it feel better?”</p><p>“I’m not called Doc for nothing.”</p><p>Taina chuckled. Her hands clenched into fists, but the familiar tug, chunky scabs warring with healthy flesh, had lessened. Healing. “It doesn’t.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>The sheets rustled to the left and tugged taut over her bare legs and chest. Gustave sat up next to her and shuffled closer for good measure. His shoulder, encased with muscle, nudged hers, and the mattress sank behind her where he planted his hand to support himself.</p><p>“I thought you fell asleep,” she said.</p><p>“Almost.”</p><p>Her lips pursed into a thin, crooked line. Guilt. Taina glanced over at him. The dark—translucent to her eyes, which had adjusted to the lack of light. Between that and a waxing gibbous moon outside, she could see him watching her. Milky beams dribbled in through slits between the blinds covering the window, scattering over the tan comforter, her arms, her chin, Gustave’s chest. Taina whispered, “Should I go?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“You need to sleep—”</p><p>“Besides,” he said, wagging a nonchalant hand through the air, “everyone is probably still up, wandering the halls. You’ll just get caught.” He kissed the skin of her shoulder then moved up to kiss the side of her neck next. With an over-dramatic, thespian sigh, he said, “I guess the safest thing to do is stay put.”</p><p>Taina leaned into him. Lips, dry. Her mouth burned, acidic and sweet: withdrawals from his taste. She went to capture his mouth in hers.</p><p>The floorboards in the hallway creaked just outside the door.</p><p>Taina tensed and snapped her head to watch the door in anticipation. </p><p>“It’s just Mike,” Gustave whispered to her, familiar with the sound. On cue, the door from the room next to them thudded shut.</p><p>A stressed-laden breath hissed out between her lips like a deflating balloon. “There’s something uniquely awful about the idea of Thatcher seeing or hearing us as opposed to, I don’t know, anyone else.” Anyone at all finding out would be murderous to her career which already dangled over a mile high precipice. Still, <em>Thatcher.</em> Of all people. Taina cringed. Her bedroom, which shared a wall with Frost’s room, seemed like a less stressful option. Although with Valkyrie across the hallway, it would be an equally—if not more—dangerous game to play. ‘<em>But the dangerous ones are the most fun</em>.’ She shook her head at herself, at the devil dwelling in the back of her mind. Why was Thatcher even on base? He usually stayed off base at his own residence with it so close, but Six insisted on having everyone present. Close. Just in case. Which was worrying. Something was coming. </p><p>“<em>You</em> keep sneaking into <em>my</em> room,” Gustave replied, hushed. </p><p>Darkness cloaked the scarlet hue invading her face. A fact she appreciated. Even though every word he said held true, she masked her embarrassment by playing indignant. “<em>You</em> said I was welcome.”</p><p>The tone in his voice melted, warm and soft, a blossoming sincerity. “You are.”</p><p>Taina smiled, running her hand over the blanket covering her knees to smooth out the wrinkles. “I’m glad you’re back.”</p><p>“You missed me?”</p><p>She didn’t need to see him—she could hear the brazen grin in his voice. But it was hard to argue with the logical deduction. She groaned, head shaking in defeat. Loose hairs tickled against her bare shoulders while she moved. “I suppose I did.”</p><p>
  <em>Libertad.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Probation.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>João.</em>
</p><p>The taste of rum and lying half-naked on her bed, crying catatonically. Shuddering stills in her mind. Taina nodded again. “I did.”</p><p>“I thought about you the whole time,” Gustave whispered.</p><p>Scorching fireworks exploded under the skin of her cheek. Attention steering away from him, her eyes narrowed at the dresser across the room from her standing next to the extinguished floor lamp. “You should go to sleep,” she said. “I don’t want to keep you up even more than I have. You just got back from— uh…” </p><p>Lying back down, Gustave filled in for her, “Colombia.”</p><p><em>Colombia</em>.</p><p>Taina beat the anxious cadence of her breaths into submission with a clenched jaw. Appearing serene on the outside, and <em>only</em> the outside. Someway, somehow, she knew whatever their operation had been tied back to the Santa Blanca cartel. Some virulent sharpness twined in the pit of her stomach, impaling her like a series of lances. ‘<em>It’s fine. It’s over</em>,’ she told herself. They were back, and the debt had been paid. And if she never saw Bowman again it would be too soon.</p><p>“You just got back from Colombia only to have to deal with me for however long it’s been. You need to sleep.” She cleared her throat in order to dip into the deepest depths of her vocal range. “You need to rest so your body can heal, so you can… <em>recoup your strength</em>.”</p><p>A silence wafted in the air until Gustave asked, “Is that supposed to be me?”</p><p>“It’s good.”</p><p>“Is that what I sound like?” he asked, sounding insulted by the mockery, though only mildly.</p><p>“Yes.” Taina rattled her head, correcting herself. “<em>Oui</em>. Much worse than zis, really.” A stab at the French, guttural R diminished into a gargle on the noise. She grimaced at the piss-poor attempt, but Gustave chuckled, a sound both musical and earthy—like a rocky babbling brook. A smile broke on Taina’s dried out lips. ‘<em>French might have to be my next language.</em>’ Options had lined up for suitable tutors which always helped. She nodded to herself, having preemptively committed to the act. With that, she plopped back down onto the mattress, bouncing against the springs until the kinetic energy died out and she lay there utterly still.</p><p>“You’re staying?” Gustave asked.</p><p>Taina lolled her to the side to peer at the man next to her. Then she nodded.</p><p>“<em>Très bien</em>.”</p><p>She wormed her body over to Gustave’s and bathed in the heat that radiated off him. Once she was close enough, Gustave shifted to capture her lips in his. Her hand skimmed over his hair-covered chest, where the swell of his pectoral muscle seemed to fit perfectly alongside her palm. His heart bashed, drumming against her skin. She loved it. Taina gave his bottom lip, caught between her teeth, a gentle tug and kissed him one final time. “Night,” she whispered. With that, she flopped over and faced the other direction. A few albeit still seconds passed and then Gustave’s arm slipped around her waist. She rested her hand over his and then felt him cuddle up to her. His chest, flush against her back. He breathed against her, into her, with her. And she would never tell a soul how much the sensation made her smile.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The array of items before her mingled together in a scent that could only be summarized as breakfast. Two pieces of toast slathered with vermillion-coloured jam released a sweet, fruity aroma, making her mouth water. Next to that, a small helping of peppery scrambled eggs that appeared mostly edible. Taina wedged a banana and orange into the corners of her large plate already occupied with a fork and knife. The drip coffee maker hissed, having run out of water. Ready. She removed the pot. Tiny white columns of scalding steam wafted skyward and caressed the skin of her face. She poured the coffee into an oversized, plain white mug clearly designed to hold soup. Next the scent of the beverage flooded her nose and awakened her. </p><p>The early hour meant an emptier than normal kitchen. Only a few pans lined the two stoves. Even still, someone had manage to burn something. Taina hunched forward once more to breathe in the scent of coffee—aromatic, bitter—and mask the foul stench in the room. </p><p>Nomad entered the kitchen and busied herself with preparing a cup of tea. “Good morning, Caveira.” </p><p>“Good morning.”</p><p>Vibrations rattled through the pocket of her sweater, an itchy tickle over her stomach. Taina reached a hand in and took out her cell phone. One new message popped up. Doc. </p><p>‘Did you forget something?’ the message read.</p><p>‘No,’ she texted back. Focusing on her plate again, she nudged everything further into the perimeter and then carefully nestled the mug into the gap at the center. Satisfied, Taina secured a strong grip to pick the plate up.</p><p><em>Buzz</em>—her phone vibrated again. She huffed and rummaged through her pocket once more.</p><p>‘You sure?’ Doc asked. The phone rattled in her hand at a second back-to-back message. ‘I’ll give you a hint: your bedroom.’ </p><p>Taina smirked.</p><p>Sanaa stepped up beside Taina and tugged opened the drawer between them piled full of silverware. Taina jammed her phoned back into her pocket. Fast as possible, eyes wide and blinking. Nomad smiled at her, and Taina forced herself to smile back. She picked the plate up and began the trek towards the hallway.</p><p>"Not eating with us at the table?” Sanaa jerked her thumb in the direction of the dining area.</p><p>Taina flinched and came to a standstill. The coffee wobbled inside the mug at the sudden stop. Rich, brown liquid dribbled over the rim. A group of specialists had already huddled at the table: Maverick sat sipping a cup of coffee, sandy blonde hair appearing unbrushed; Kaid had his nose buried deep in a paperback book; Dokkaebi munched on something and then suddenly began fiddling with her tablet, fingers tapping with a vengeance. </p><p>“It’s probably in everyone’s best interest that I be alone right now,” Taina lied easily—because in almost every other instance it was pure truth. Most people wouldn’t even think twice about, never mind questioning, her absence from a social gathering. And even though she shrugged it off most of the time, for some reason she didn’t want to jeopardize that modicum of rapport. “Maybe after coffee."</p><p>“Should I say ‘thank you’ then?”</p><p>Taina smiled at Nomad. It would be one less fight they’d have to worry about. Dokkaebi would be happy too. “Maybe after coffee.”</p><p>She made her way back to her bedroom. Careful step after careful step, arms quivering, desperate to remain a perfect equilibrium. At the door, she shifted the plate to one hand and quickly twisted the knob, turning and observing the empty hallway encasing her. Back nudging at the door, it creaked open under her force. Once inside, she kicked the door shut and said, “I didn’t forget.”</p><p>“I’ve been sitting in here alone for half an hour,” Gustave whined while he tugged a basic grey GIGN t-shirt over his head, <em>standing</em> in the middle of her room—she couldn’t help but notice. </p><p>Taina’s wrist knocked the clock on her bedside table out of the way and made room for her to lower the glass plate. She moved the massive mug from the plate to the table as well. Her eyes briefly checked the clock declaring the time, 0636, with neon green numbers. Her gaze then drifted further. The sheets and blanket of her bed had been rearranged from the mess she—they—had made of them. The pillows, resting upright against the headboard, concealed from view by hiding underneath the grey overly-stuffed shams. Pewter-toned comforter: laid over the mattress, perfectly symmetrical, pulled tight and wrinkle-free. He had made her bed, and now she found herself not even wanting to sit on it at risk of destroying his work.</p><p>“Oh,” Gustave uttered.</p><p>The sound caught her attention. When she spun to acknowledge him, the annoyance had dissolved from his face. The look in his eyes warmed, the sharp angle of his dark eyebrows curving in surprise. That and a tiny, adorable pout on his lips—like an innocent child trying to beg their way into getting just one more cookie. “You made us breakfast?”</p><p>Taina choked on the breath she tried to take. “Uh, <em>no!</em>” </p><p>Gustave beamed at her. </p><p>“No, no! Get that idea out of your head. I made <em>me</em> breakfast, and I’m willing to share some with you this one time.”</p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>Taina glared at him in distaste for that response. That <em>tone.</em> Her entire body flopped onto the mattress, forging disorder around her—pillows toppling, blankets bunching and wrinkling everywhere. She narrowed her eyes at Gustave, ensuring he knew exactly how intentional the disaster was too. </p><p>He shook his head and scoffed, but she saw the smile that lurked underneath. Then he gaped at what he saw next. Needing both hands for its size and weight, Gustave raised the coffee mug. “You know this much caffeine is no good for you.”</p><p>Taina rolled her eyes at him. “I couldn’t bring two mugs, now could I?” Then again… she probably could have if she really wanted to. She watched Gustave raise the mug up to his nose and take sniff of the beverage. ‘<em>One is good</em>,’ she decided. “I don’t know how you take your coffee, so you’ll have to settle for black,” she said. “<em>Like my soul.</em>”</p><p>“Oh, stop it,” Gustave said before taking a sip. Steam still rolled in coils from inside the mug.</p><p>Taina grinned. It had been about a week. A week of being casually not casual. A week with a steep, steep learning curve. The facts she had gleaned included but were not limited to: Gustave Kateb hated any and all self-demeaning comments—in jest or not, he had zero business being the one trying to sneak around, and he derived way, <em>way</em> too much joy out of toying with her. In terms of self-discovery, she learned that she was a liar, had no impulse control—but that she possessed full awareness of already, and she had a very, <em>very</em> hard time keeping away from him. A queen of self-deception only missing a crown.  ‘<em>I’m in control</em>,’ she claimed. They hadn’t even done anything the night before, they just… were, and even that was enough to trigger a small siren in the depths of her thoughts. </p><p>‘<em>It’s no big deal.</em>’</p><p><em>‘Casual.</em>’</p><p>Her personal favourite—‘<em>just one more night.</em>’</p><p>
  <em>Everything’s under control.</em>
</p><p>Mayhem.</p><p>Taina flinched out of her reverie. Her almost, but not quite, trembling hands stole the cup of coffee out of Gustave’s, and in absence of being able to do anything else—scream, toy with a knife, anything—she took a deep gulp of hot, bold coffee and swallowed before speaking. “Look, for the record, we don’t really do breakfast in Brasil.”</p><p>“We’re not big on it either.”</p><p>“I’m also a disaster at cooking.”</p><p>He surveyed the mini-buffet crowded on the solitary plate. “Perhaps that’s something you can pick up in the downtime.”</p><p>“I’m not dedicating my probation time to enhancing my housewife skills,” Taina said, clattering her nails along the ceramic side of the mug.</p><p>Gustave chuckled at her. “Being able to cook doesn’t make someone a housewife. It’s a good, self-sufficient skill to have,” he said, making Taina roll her eyes. He plucked the sizeable orange from the plate and worked his fingers around it and methodically, surgically, extricated the rind from the fruit. Finished, he placed the stringy orange-white shell back in a vacant section of the plate. “You should do something with your time other than training though. You’ll lose your mind waiting for probation to end if you don’t.”</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>“Losing your mind?”</p><p>“Doing something.” The mug collided with her alarm clock as she set it down on the bedside table, the black coffee inside nearly sloshing over the rim once more. But with that mess narrowly avoided, she moved onto ripping off a corner of jam-smattered toast. The berry preserves smeared over her fingertips when she pulled a jagged piece away. </p><p>Gustave smirked, sly, and before popping a segment of orange in his mouth, he whispered, “I don’t count.”</p><p>“Who’s counting you?” Taina asked with a mischievous lilt in her voice. And then she hopped off the bed, shovelled the chunk of toast into her mouth, and marched over to the closet.</p><p>Her. The answer was definitely her, but that was on a need-to-know basis, and he did not need to know.</p><p>“Such cruelty!” Gustave said, infusing melodrama into each syllable.</p><p>Despite that and his words, he leaned over and in her absence straightened the pillows and tidied the blankets the best he could with one hand, his other hand still holding the orange, another segment ready to go. A sight she didn’t expect to behold when glancing back past her shoulder. Taina grinned before refocusing her attention back to her closet. Jammy hand extended out and away, she chose miscellaneous articles of clothing for the day. Plucking a random shirt from an equally random hanger left swaying. Snatching whatever stretch pants sort of matched. Clutching them to her chest, she wandered back to her bed and tossed the clothing down. Then she spun to face Gustave with all the intention in the world. “<em>Va te faire foutre.</em>”</p><p>“<em>Taina!</em>” Slack-jawed and bug-eyed, he shot upright and gaped at her for a complete minute before shaking his head. “Learning French isn’t just learning the swears.”</p><p>Her lips scrunched into a lopsided frown, eyes glazing over. Deep in thought, trying to dissect basic Italian from sparse French. “<em>C’est... vrai,</em>” she said, the doubt turning it more into a question than a statement. </p><p>Gustave nodded, thick eyebrows flicking upwards in an expression she swore was genuine pride. “<em>Oui!</em> Very good.” </p><p>Then she smirked. “<em>Tête de nœud.</em>”</p><p>“<em>Who is teaching you all this?</em>” Gustave asked, hands flinging. His voice teetered into the realm of desperation like he really needed to know so he could give whoever that person was a <em>very</em> stern talking to. </p><p>Taina shrugged, sticking her finger in her mouth and sucking the jam away. </p><p>“Goodness,” he said. “Wash that mouth out with soap.” </p><p>French didn’t sound a right coming from her mouth like it did from his—above and beyond just being vulgar. It sounded artificial. Wrong. Gustave swapped the orange starting to fall apart in his hands for the giant mug of coffee. The steam had lessened. Catching her stare elicited one more head shake from him, accented with a smile, before he took a sip of coffee. Taina stuck her tongue out at him in response.</p><p>The muscles in Gustave’s throat flexed and tensed in a short swallow before he said, “<em>Tu me rends tellement heureux.</em>”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“What?” he asked back too quick.</p><p>“What did you say?” she demanded, stepping right up to him. </p><p>“That your pronunciation is good. In spite of your foul choice of words.”</p><p>And then he grinned a grin which upped her certainty that that wasn’t what he said to a thousand percent. As if she’d know though—most of her French required a bleep censor. Still, all things considered, even as she smiled back, she often caught herself wondering how he hadn’t gotten sick of her yet. How she hadn’t scared him off yet. Something which in turn scared her. “Whatever. What’s your day look like? Busy as always?” she asked before capturing her other jam-smeared fingertip between her lips.</p><p>“Unfortunately. A few check ups. We have the kill house this afternoon.”</p><p>“Oh, right.” Taina tossed a quick glance towards the comfy clothing she had picked out, noting that they wouldn’t do. It was getting old. Being stuck doing the same things over and over. Workouts, training, gun range, ad nauseam. Even though there were no current operations, she still hated it. Being on probation—a stat that hung over her head like a blackened raincloud. And though Hereford had its occasional perks, she found herself sick of being trapped on base. It filled her with rage. An acrid wrath that corroded her body from the inside out. It was like all of them had been grounded. At least if she were back home in Rio, she’d have something to do. As BOPE, favelas could keep one busy for an entire lifetime with work left to do.</p><p>“You?”</p><p>Taina captured Gustave’s face in her hand, his angular chin in her palm, fingers along his clean-shaven jawline. The scent of coffee laced each of his exhales, but as she brushed her warm lips against his, even warmer, she tasted citrus. “Nothing of note,” she said.</p><p>Bit of a lie.</p><p>Because in under two hours, she found herself being the unwelcomed guest standing at Six’s door. But it shouldn’t count if it wasn’t planned. At least that was Taina’s justification to herself. There had been no forethought; something at some point possessed her until her mind shut down and her steps brought her to the office door, hanging wide open. An oddity. Aurelia stood behind her desk, already on the move. Whether she was coming or going, Taina wasn’t sure, and it really didn’t matter much to her either. The setting before her had altered since she last entered the office. The wooden desk—light gleamed off the entire surface of it. Not a pen, document, book, or file cluttering the space up. Only a closed laptop. The bookshelves around the room—still occupied, but less so. Gutted but still kicking. </p><p>“Caveira,” the woman said.</p><p>“Six.”</p><p>Aurelia wedged her office chair against the desk and removed a jacket from the backrest. “I don’t have the time right now.” She slipped her arms into the sleeves of her black blazer and buttoned it up over the white, pinstriped blouse hugging her torso. </p><p>“I’ll only be a minute,” Taina said.</p><p>Six gestured to the door with one hand. “Walk and talk then.”</p><p>Taina nodded and pursued Six as she walked down the main staircase of the headquarters building. A brisk pace, but Taina kept up with comfort. “How long am I going to be on probation?”</p><p>“Is that what this is about?” Six asked with a serrated edge in her voice. “I don’t have time for this. It won’t be my decision anymore anyways.”</p><p>“What does that mean?”</p><p>“It’s out of my hands now.”</p><p>“You’re <em>Six</em>,” Taina said. “How is that possible?” </p><p>Taina followed her all the way to the front doors of the building. Beyond the glass, a plain black unmarked vehicle sat, idling, at the end of the walkway. The black paint, glossy and perfectly polished. Chrome accents glinted, sending light each and every direction including right into Taina’s eyes. The windows, all tinted, impossible to see through, but her mind filled in the blanks—men in suits with shades and transparent earpieces.</p><p>Taina loved working for Rainbow, but even thinking of the political side of things made her feel ill. “What the hell is going on?”</p><p>“Ms. Pereira,” Six snapped. Aurelia killed her pace and whirled to face Taina. The day’s rays of sun—a rarity as of late—poured through row upon row of windowpanes surrounding them, a deluge of natural light. The beams flickered umber lowlights and copper highlights through Aurelia’s short, dark hair. “I can’t help you. You have to let some things run their due course. Give it time.”</p><p>Taina blinked at the woman—a personification of professionalism—as she walked away with nothing else to say. Aurelia’s black heels clacked against the granite tiles along the floor. Taina watched. The rear passenger door flung open for Aurelia. The moment the car door closed, the vehicle sped off out of the loading zone and towards the exit of Hereford base. ‘<em>What the hell?</em>’ Taina’s left hand groped at her own hip, searching—craving—for her knife, automatic. But her uniform bore no accessories, no holsters. No weapons. No power. Nothing. Taina pivoted and bolted back up the staircase, her combat boots pounding against each step. Only a half-baked plan tumbled through her mind: if Six couldn’t give her answers, she’d coerce them out of Harry. At the landing of the stairs, she broke left and froze after two steps.</p><p>‘Dr. Harishva Pandey,’ the plaque on the door screamed even in the dimly lit hallway. “Damn it.” Harry worked on an open door policy, and his office door—snugly tucked within the frame, closed tight. </p><p><em>‘Knock anyway.</em>’</p><p>Taina shook her head at her own thought. Already on probation, a mark of poor conduct would harm her case more than anything. Hands balled into fists, she wandered through the hallways just in case. Harry was somewhere. He couldn’t evade her—not forever at least. Come hell or high water, she'd find him. ‘<em>You can run, but you can’t hide.</em>’</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As always, thanks again for reading, commenting, and kudos-ing! I appreciate all of you!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Deadlocked</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taina sprinted out of the women’s locker room and onto the field, arms positioned awkwardly around all her items. A balancing act—the holsters, her Luison, the sheathed knife, her gloves, one beret. The M12 strapped to her body bobbled and bashed against her spine with every pounding step. <em>Shit, shit, shit.</em> Black paint around her eyes dampened the sunlight scorching her vision, but she still had to squint to clearly make out everybody. They huddled in a loose pack near one of the cement barriers. Attackers and defenders, all inactive. She dashed into the group of them and tensed in anticipation for the horn to sound her official tardiness. </p>
<p>“They’re still setting up,” Frost called out through her balaclava.</p>
<p>Taina's run dwindled into a casual stride at those words. “Thank you,” she wheezed out before continuing on.</p>
<p>She spotted Gustave talking with Maverick. He gestured, animated and excited, with his free hand alongside whatever words he spoke. She weaved through the crowd, paying no attention to her fellow operators, but making sure to cut behind him. ‘<em>He’ll never let me live this down</em>,’ Taina thought. He had even reminded her. She breached the circumference of their little bubble and paused. A light breeze helped stifle the gentle heat, the kind that creeps up on you and slowly but surely spikes your temperature. The items bundled in her arms crashed to the ground, and she plopped down right along with them. Legs outstretched, she strapped up. <em>Click</em> after <em>click</em> after <em>click</em>; the two pistol holster straps securing the item to her thigh, the sheath containing her knife, holsters clipping onto her belt.</p>
<p>The grass whispered beside her while telltale metal clanged, and she already knew.</p>
<p>“You—”</p>
<p>“Do not harp on me for being late right now, or I swear I’ll end you,” she said the moment Gustave’s voice hit her ears. A threat devoid of any weight, but words without an air of danger didn’t even begin to convey her rage. </p>
<p>“I only wanted to ask if you were alright.”</p>
<p>Taina peered up at him. A sufficient gap between them, Gustave stood close enough to be discreet but far enough away for it to not matter. Still, he gazed off into the distance, towards the kill house, maybe past it—the rolling hills in the background sprinkled with lush green flora.</p>
<p>“<em>I’m great.</em>” Taina yanked her gloves on with all the force she could without razing the scabs from her skin and bleeding out all over again. Gustave remained silent. An invitation to elaborate, she was certain. She didn’t even want to. <em>What’s the point</em>, she thought to herself, but her anger, the words, streamed out of her mouth like a torrent. “I tried asking Six how long I’d be on probation for. She was cryptic as hell. For someone who runs the damn place, you’d think she’d have some kind of answer, but no. That was useless, so I spent the rest of the afternoon between training trying to track Harry down, who is nowhere to be seen!”</p>
<p>He shifted toward her, gripping his MP5 with both hands. The visor of his helmet pointed upwards, bouncing sunbeams all around. Gustave's voice shrunk down to something akin to a whisper, but lower. Rockier. “Have you talked to anyone about what happened in Bolivia?”</p>
<p>Taina gasped, sudden, loud, facetious. “I’ve found Harry,” she half-shouted—loud enough for a few of the nearby operators to hear and turn. Next she flung her hand in Gustave’s direction and stared him dead in the eye. “<em>He’s right here!</em>”  She caught him rolling his eyes at her, and she huffed right back at him. “Why does everyone think I’m scarred by going to Bolivia? It was a mission—I went on my own. Most of the things I do are alone anyways. This is nothing new. And I did quite fine, for the record.”</p>
<p>Albeit a mission to save her baby brother. From certain death. With no backup. A mission that seemed to compromise every facet in her life irreparably, but she had brainwashed herself into believing those were minor details.</p>
<p>“I have no doubts about that,” Gustave said, “but I can tell being on probation frustrates you.”</p>
<p>Taina flicked the grass off her beret, plucking away the few blades that clung to the fabric, and then slapped the cap on her head. “You frustrate me,” she mumbled under her breath.</p>
<p>“I heard that,” Gustave said, voice jovial enough she didn’t think he really believed her. “All I’m saying is that perhaps if you actually—”</p>
<p>“<em>Talk about it?</em>” Taina gagged and garbled nonsense at the words. Subconscious, instinctive. Gustave pursed his lips and emitted the tiniest of nods. Taina could tell the damage she had done—her words, her behaviour, more bladed than she anticipated, and she knew they stung him. For the first time, it occurred to her that perhaps such a fate was inevitable. Gustave was not Harry, but she had to confront Harry eventually. There’d be no silently breezing through a psychological evaluation, and she doubted Harry would go as easy on her the second time around. Nor would she fare well fibbing her way through. Harry was too adept for that. He trained for years to read people, and he already knew with whom he dealt, possessed a vast awareness of the cards dealt to her no matter the efforts made to conceal them. No bluff seemed strong enough. Though they operated in different ways, Taina figured they shared a strong similarity. Truth-seekers. Information gatherers. Harry was like the sun; with enough light, with enough attention and warmth, he could blossom the truth out of people. And Taina—she was a leech. She bled people of the truth.</p>
<p>Even the illusion of choice disintegrated into dust and debris. It didn’t matter what she did. He’d find the truth—that there was something else wrong with her.</p>
<p>
  <em>Libertad.</em>
</p>
<p>Taina’s jaw clenched as the thoughts in her mind rattled off like gunfire.</p>
<p>
  <em>Santa Blanca.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>João.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>El Sueño.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘I see you.’</em>
</p>
<p>The horn from the kill house clamoured—a siren-like sound echoing and distorting over the uneven and expansive terrain, sending clusters of birds scattering through the atmosphere. Taina flinched. Her heart thrashed against her ribs. The shock had robbed her lungs of air, and she fought to regain it—a fact hidden by securing the gloves skin-tight around her wrist and clenching her hands into fists.</p>
<p>“It might help make dealing with the fallout a bit easier,” Gustave said. He released the vertical grip of his submachine gun and instead stretched his latex-covered hand out to her.</p>
<p>Taina peered up, wincing in an attempt to see through the bright daylight. Despite that, and though she couldn’t actually see if he was smiling, the expression reached his eyes as he stood waiting, while the rest of the defenders made their way into the kill house. Taina’s hand gripped onto his, and he helped heave her up into a stand. Every muscle in her legs—calves, hamstring, quads—seemed to bubble, numb yet alive. <em>Run.</em></p>
<p>A thought clawed its way from her mind to the back of her throat on a wild escape. “You help me,” she said. A foreign dose of honesty, a bittersweetness on her tongue.</p>
<p>Her fingers curled and flexed, yearning—a hopeless attempt to weave through his. <em>Stop.</em> Her entire arm recoiled. She pulled her hand to her chest like she had touched molten lava. Gustave chuckled at her. <em>Happy</em>, such an elusive term. Behind him, Maverick and Zofia, loitering within the group of attackers, observed her and Gustave, stragglers the both of them. <em>Run.</em> Taina commenced the walk towards the main doors with haste. A quick tug on the strap around her body, and the submachine gun swung from her back to her hip. One hand securing the grip, she fiddled with the extended folding stock.</p>
<p>Gustave filled the silence by asking, “How is João doing, by the way?”</p>
<p>“<em>He’s fine,</em>” she snapped with that inexplicable venom in her words. No way in hell she’d know how João was doing. She was still not responding to his texts and calls <em>and</em> voice messages. Still hadn’t called him back either. Her thoughts meandered, uncontrolled. ‘<em>He hasn’t phoned begging me to save his ass again, so he can’t be doing </em>that<em> bad.</em>’ The comment struck through her mind like a lightning bolt, and she loathed herself for even allowing it to exist at all. Sick to her stomach, a cold sweat swallowed her whole. Her quaking grip on the firearm tightened. Taina glanced over at Gustave. He seemed to memorize the main corridor of the kill house rather than acknowledge her in any way, and whether that was intentional or not, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t like her odds either way. “I’m sorry,” Taina said. </p>
<p>Words that immediately caught his attention. His eyes locked with hers, and she felt the dozens of layers protecting her stripping away under that gaze. Raw. </p>
<p>“I don’t mean to be so…” She struggled for the word. Of which, there were many. Reckless. Cold. Calamitous. “Mean.”</p>
<p>“You’re not,” he said, “but I know.”</p>
<p>Doc’s armour rattled next to her, an impossibly obnoxious yet reassuring sound. A chill ripped through her core, one brutal wave of thrills. She wanted to reach out and take hold of his hand once more. To feel him. To taste him. To flee. To escape. To hide.</p>
<p>
  <em>Run.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Bright blood dribbled, slow and viscous, down her left forearm. The gash just below her elbow had gone unnoticed until the match ended and she had returned to the women’s locker room. Taina crashed onto the bench of her locker stall, hands braced against the edge of the sticky metal seat, head hanging down in exhaustion—that’s when she saw it. A scarlet trail curved around her forearm. It trudged toward her wrist, about to slip underneath her glove. Gravity exerting its force. ‘<em>How long have I been bleeding? How did it even happen?</em>’ She figured she would have felt an air-soft impacting her skin, so she brushed it off as the ramification of a careless vault instead. There were innumerable un-sanded, jagged, or protruding edges, parts, and surfaces inside the kill house to fall victim to. A den of mishaps.</p>
<p>Taina scraped her gloveless hand up her face—a gesture of simultaneous aims. To rub her heavy-lidded eye, to swab away the sweat from her forehead, and brush the sidebangs out of her face. It took a mere additional flinging of the wrist to knock the beret off her head next, sending it tumbling down her back until landing on the bottom shelf of her stall. She was quick to unclasp the holsters from her body and set them aside. Standing, she slipped out of the strap securing the M12 to her torso and hung the firearm on the side hook. Then she made her way out of the women’s change room, having not changed at all.</p>
<p>Taina plucked a tissue on her way out. The walk from the change rooms to the headquarters building was a lengthy one—plenty of time to stop the bleeding. She pressed the tissue to her elbow.</p>
<p><em>‘Talk about it</em>,’ she thought, trying to coax her self into the idea and bring it into reality. ‘<em>It shouldn’t be that hard. Just say some things that are true and then you’re good.</em>’</p>
<p>Her breaths hastened. The walk up the headquarters stairs ruptured an ache throughout her muscles. So slow, so dreadful that a sprint up the stairs did her a better service. A quick turn down the hallway, and she could see Harry’s office door tightly sealed.</p>
<p>
  <em>God damn it.</em>
</p>
<p>She hunched over—the faintest of glows slipped from underneath the pale wooden door. Taina took two steps forward, stifled her breaths, and tuned out the incessant beat of her own heart. Leaning against the door, she listened—voices. ‘<em>Well, I found Harry.</em>’ And she wouldn’t let him evade her again.</p>
<p>Spine driving against the wall, she sank down until she was sitting on the floor, right next to the door frame, knees up to her chest.</p>
<p>She twisted her arm around and killed time trying to scrub away the dried blood with the rapidly disintegrating tissue in her hand. But the red stain never budged. She huffed and scrubbed the paint off her face instead. Finished, a sandy, putrid dryness filled her mouth, and she clenched the tissue in her palm.</p>
<p>
  <em>Libertad.</em>
</p>
<p>Taina wrenched her eyes shut. Forcing herself to swallow the sourness tainting her tongue. <em>Stop.</em> She opened her eyes again and leered at the first thing her erratic gaze settled upon—her own hands interlocked between her knees. The jagged edges of scabs protruded from the otherwise smooth skin stretching over her knuckles. <em>Santa Blanca.</em> The nail of her thumb prodded at one of those scabs. The middle knuckle. <em>Scrape.</em> Dragging along the lump of dried and desiccated cells until her nail wedged up under the ridge, snagging, commanded herself. ‘<em>Gustave is going to be pissed if you pick your scabs off.</em>’ She snaked her arms around her own thighs for an alternative. Hands, clenching and unclenching. Tingling. Restless. She wished she had a knife with her to hold. Or maybe just a hand would do. ‘<em>I see you.</em>’</p>
<p>
  <em>Click.</em>
</p>
<p>The door swung open next to her. A woman Taina had never seen before lingered in the threshold of the door and thanked Harry. White pencil skirtdecked in florals, accented by peach tones. A fancy blazer that tied around her waist. The woman stared, bewildered, at Taina as she hauled herself up off the floor. A thick cloud of perfume hit her as she stood. Taina nodded at the woman when she went to leave. Stern, desperate—to fight back the burning need to leave with her, to act like her behaviour was perfectly natural.</p>
<p>“Ms. Pereira,” Harry said.</p>
<p>Taina pointed to the spot on the floor she had occupied for a childish amount of time. Super professional. “That’s— sorry, I just— I spent all day looking for you.”</p>
<p>“And you finally found me,” he said, as if he understood her whack logic. “It’s been a busy day.”</p>
<p>Harry’s body inclined to peer down the hallway—an empty corridor save for the two of them since the woman had already began her descent down the stairs. Harry nudged at the button of his sports jacket. The Prussian blue herringbone coat fell open and exposed what lay underneath. A grey t-shirt, painfully plain. Casual. A stark contrast to his coat which he removed from his shoulders. Taina forced herself to swallow the laugh boiling up. Harry stepped out of the way, propping the door as wide open as he could. With one hand, he beckoned her in.</p>
<p>“It must be important then if you have been searching for me all day.”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Maybe<em>.</em> It was to her at least. She entered his office, not even bothering to sit. Instead, she rooted herself at the edge of his wooden desk. A crowded surface—riddled with documents and notepads and folders and his recording device—she barely found the space to ready her self. To press her palms against the wood. The stance, a method of power. Non-verbal dominance. Control. “I wanted to finish my evaluation.”</p>
<p>“I see,” Harry said before closing the door. He made his way back to the heart of his office, sinking into his chair and immediately rummaging through drawer after drawer lining the side. Completely ignoring Taina’s power play. The wooden drawers clunked open only to be slammed shut again, over and over. “I’m afraid that’s going to have to wait.”</p>
<p>“Please.”</p>
<p>‘<em>Jesus</em>,’ she scoffed at herself. ‘<em>Begging. Who are you?</em>’ But she found that Harry Pandey’s office had become the place where any sense of self came to die. Harry continued rifling through his drawers, switching to the right side of the desk. She fought hard to not succumb to her deepest desires and punch or kick at the wooden structure. To break her hand on it. To bleed over it.</p>
<p>“<em>Please.</em>”</p>
<p>“It’s for the best that we hold off,” he said. “And if I’m being completely honest, I don’t believe I have the time to go through a thorough evaluation with you right now.”</p>
<p>“Why?” she snapped. “I’m ready. Ask me something. Any me <em>anything</em>.” Except about her brother. Or her current mental state. Or her newfound coping mechanisms or how relentlessly muddled her personal life had become with her professional life.</p>
<p>Nausea rolled through her, vicious—she had to wrench her eyes shut.</p>
<p>“It’s not a quiz, Ms. Pereira. Nor is it a matter of correct answers. There’s no studying to be done. It takes time, and I unfortunately don’t have that right now. Ah!” Harry sat back up in his chair and looked her in the eye for the first time. While one hand closed the final drawer of his desk, he extended a small adhesive bandage out to her. She blinked at the item before her. Then Harry’s eyes shifted down to her arm. With the bend of an elbow, she gave her arm a once-over. Red had sprouted once more—a dark droplet drifting down her arm, along her skin. Taina sighed. Balsamic-floral notes still lined the air, and consequentially her inhale, from the other woman’s perfume. She took the bandage from Harry and tore it open. Only after she started applying the adhesive to her skin did he continue. “Things are changing in Rainbow. Internally.”</p>
<p>Taina’s every muscle stiffened, but she shotgunned a hard stare Harry’s way. “Am I being fired?”</p>
<p>“No! No—goodness, no. More internal. In partner with that, we are working on the finalizing details with another CTU to have more operators join Rainbow.” Harry nudged his spectacles, which reflected a woody hue, further up the bridge of his nose with the prod of a single finger. He then found a pencil hiding under a manila folder ballooning with documents and began fiddling with it. “Furthermore, there <em>is</em> a minimum time requirement for probation, and I’m afraid you haven’t met it yet.”</p>
<p>“What’s the minimum?”</p>
<p>“At least four weeks.”</p>
<p>“<em>Four</em>—” A wistful sigh fled Taina’s lungs. Her nail grazed along a small crevice in the wood of Harry’s desk. Too deep for finish and glaze alone to fill and even it out. “Can I go home then or something?”</p>
<p>She said <em>home,</em> but deep down she knew she meant Brazil. Not home to some kind of familialsanctuary. No, a region, some environment, that she could exert control over. To something significantly less variable.</p>
<p>Taina continued, “I can’t do anything here. All I do is sit and think.” And she abhorred those thoughts. The ones that could not be denied, whose verity she could never combat into submission. They were torturous, and she worried—how may they impact her job in the future? Her ability to even <em>do</em> her job? All the thinking—how was she supposed to walk into a building and pull the trigger or toss loose a grenade? Things she had done for years with no cares. Without ever thinking deeply, thinking neurotically. ‘<em>How do you escape yourself?</em>’ she wondered. She lived like some unbidden guest within the confines of her own mind, and she begged to be exiled. “I hate it.”</p>
<p>Harry flashed his most supportive smile at her. “If you’re struggling with overthinking, I recommend focusing on the world—the people, the sensations—around you and not the world up here,” he said, tapping the eraser side of the pencil against his own temple.</p>
<p>Overthinking—there was definitely something very wrong with her. Taina ground her hand over her collarbone, pretending to soothe away an ache when she really sought her heart rate. A rushing tempo. </p>
<p>Harry took a sip from his mug filled with coffee. The dark liquid emitted no traces of steam, inevitably hours old. He swallowed then said, “Once your probation period is nearing its end, we will address your psychological evaluation then to ensure you’re ready—mentally ready—to go back to work. When the time comes. In the mean time, I think it’s best you stop worrying about this.”</p>
<p>“I am not worrying,” Taina said. “I don’t worry.”</p>
<p>A small smile occupied Harry’s lips once again. “Are you certain?”</p>
<p>She wasn’t. Not even a little bit.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I apologize that this chapter isn't the strongest, and as compensation I'll try posting again within a few days. Regardless, thanks for reading and all the comments/kudos! I really appreciate the support.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Speak</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rest of the day came as a formality that never concluded fast enough.Taina had trudged her way back to the locker room only to find it barren. A solitude she typically loved—but it only allowed her noxious thoughts to flutter through her mind uninterrupted.</p><p>Focusing on the world around her became a slow death at the hands of everyday minutiae. For a shower, she stood and allowed the scorching hot water from the spout to pelt down on her skin while she stared blankly at nothing, counting backwards from 100. The night took its time drowning the sun under the horizon. Taina ate angry, throwing together something that barely constituted a meal and scarfing it down.</p><p>Afterwards, she marched into the commons room to duck in on one of the patent pending Team Rainbow Movie Nights. She had bailed on all the previous ones so far—no one could say she didn’t try this time around. The opening credits had already commenced. Obnoxiously over the top dramatic music paired with a semi-legible font popped up all over the television. Taina already hated it. A large herd of operators occupied the commons area. The Germans had staked claim on one the tables in the southwest corner of the room, chatting amongst each other. The FBI boys occupied another set of chairs, in the middle of which Ela with her coloured hair stuck out like a sore thumb. Mute stood over them—observing more than taking part. Taina could related to that; while she was striving to follow Harry’s advice and escape her own thoughts, that didn’t mean she actually wanted to converse with anyone. With one obvious exception. And some anomalous desire to speak burned deep inside despite having nothing to say and having gone bankrupt on confessions.</p><p>In Gustave’s absence, Taina settled for wordlessly perching on the arm of the woven couch Echo occupied. She studied Alibi, who sat next to him but with a plethora of distance between them. Aria appeared to be trying to ignore him out of existence. <em>Wonder what he said now</em>, Taina thought. </p><p>“Cav,” Echo said as an acknowledgement.</p><p>Alibi’s gaze drifted from Masaru to Taina. “Echo,” she replied. He smiled at her—something she paid little attention to, fixing her focus on Alibi behind him. The Italian woman glanced at Echo once more, catching a front row view of the back of his head.</p><p>Then she jolted from her spot on the couch and made a break for the exit.</p><p>Sometimes the reminder was nice—'<em>I’m not the only social pariah here.</em>’ With the smirk on his face and the ink black hair spiking out in every direction around his face, she still found something endearing in his child-like demeanour. </p><p>“So you were gone for a bit,” Echo said. </p><p>“I was.”</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>The distant sound of popping infiltrated her ears and distracted her from answering for a brief moment. “I had to go do something.”</p><p>“And what’s that?”</p><p>“Kill people,” Taina answered.</p><p>Masaru watched the flashing images on the television from some kind of explosion and nodded, steady and assertive. Wholly unfazed by her response. “This movie looks like shit,” he declared loud enough for more than Taina to hear.</p><p>She nodded back.</p><p>Taina didn’t understand the appeal. An poorly-scripted simulation of the lives they led. Not exact but close enough to not need an artistic representation. Some kind of military men. A woman side kick Taina was pretty sure would appear tough but end up relegated to the role of damsel in distress or something in a similar vein. Trashy. Both middle fingertips massaged her temples, but the touch did nothing to assuage the early on-set of a headache. Ash entered with popcorn still in its bag emitting steam. Methodic—not keen on sharing. Taina tried focusing on the mouthwatering buttery aroma instead, like its salt-laden scent could cure the migraine growing.</p><p>Someone else walked into the commons room and came to a stand near the couch Taina and Masaru occupied.</p><p>“What is this?” Gustave asked.</p><p>A question directed at everyone. As such, she stared empty-eyed at the television and neglected to provide an answer. Not that she knew what the hell it was either. Thermite provided some kind of answer, enough for Gustave to nod and shift deeper into the room. The vacant seat next to Echo went either unnoticed or ignored, for which Taina was grateful. At least until Gustave sat down on the other side of the room in one of the metal table chairs and watched her instead of the TV. He shattered her indifference like glass, blood freezing over.</p><p>An explosion in the film blasted through the speakers, making them crackle, and rattled the floor. </p><p>The clangor stole her attention. She turned back to the television and beheld the gratuitous violence before her. Helicopters. Shooting.</p><p>
  <em>Libertad. </em>
</p><p>Taina flinched and averted her gaze somewhere else. Somewhere safer. Like Gustave—still studying her. Her and nothing else. A small, soft smile lined his lips and reached his eyes. </p><p>She tried to smile back.</p><p>Masaru bolted upright from his seat beside her, stretching, curving his back. A series of cracks and pops rattled off from his bones. “And I’m out,” he announced to everyone.</p><p>Taina glanced at the wall clock. “It’s only been ten minutes.”</p><p>“Even that’s too much time. This movie is shit.”</p><p>Taina shrugged, on the verge of a laugh. There was no good counter—he was correct. She pursed her lips and glanced down. Both cushions of the love seat—now wide open and unoccupied. But she remained perched on the arm rest. Out of place, attention-grabbing. Her hands clenched and unclenched, pins and needles. Cold, but a flaming desire sizzled in her legs. Her thighs, her calves. She really wanted to leave. To run.</p><p>Her slightly panicked eyes caught Gustave continuing to shoot glances her way. The expression on his face had shifted, but to what, she couldn’t place. His smile—corrupted into something lesser but not quite a frown. Furrowed eyebrows. Something akin to sadness but not the same. Concern maybe<em>.</em> She yearned to trace her fingers down his face and smooth out the look, soften every harsh angle until it disappeared.</p><p>His eyes locked with hers. Gustave cocked his head to the side, indicating the hallway.</p><p>A question.</p><p><em>‘I shouldn’t</em>,’ she thought. ‘<em>We shouldn’t.</em>’</p><p>But comfort—a tantalizing and unsatiated craving. It devoured her whole from the inside out. Starving. Maybe the best thing to do was to not deny it. Then again, maybe it wasn’t; maybe that was the worst thing to do, but she didn’t care either way. The need far outweighed rationale and smothered any notion of consequence.</p><p>Taina nodded.</p><p>Witnessed from the corners of her vision, Gustave said something to Thermite before rising from his seat. Then he strolled out of the commons area. Adrenaline coursed through her, gasoline on a fire.</p><p>
  <em>Wait.</em>
</p><p>She forced herself to relent, to not follow after him. To stare unmoving at the television screen and nothing else. Like trying to fight against a rip current. The stillness ruptured aches throughout each and every muscle. The pursuit, always the more agonizing side—more treacherous, more volatile. Something she figured she should have grown used to with it practically being her job description. Besides that, she remembered what happened last time their roles were reversed. Taina didn’t even notice the minuscule smile blossoming at the memory. She had an ever-growing list of words with which to describe Gustave Kateb. Permanently banned off said list: <em>subtle</em> and anything related to <em>stealth</em>. The man may have been able to finesse his way through a medical procedure but outside of that… In his mind, secret rendezvous were following ten paces behind her to the bedroom. </p><p>Taina stood up from her spot on the couch’s cushioned arm.</p><p>“Why is everyone leaving?” Thermite asked.</p><p>“Because Echo is right,” she said. “This movie is shit.”</p><p>She meandered out of the commons room and approached the hallway. Her hand fished through the pocket of her slate athletic pants and grabbed for her phone. A distraction readied in case anyone roamed through the hallway with her.</p><p>Instead, a welcome emptiness greeted her around the corner. A glance over her shoulder—nothing. An opening, and one Taina took. She rushed down the hallway and twisted the doorknob in her tight grip. She slipped into Gustave’s bedroom, and once she closed the door and turned around, she expected to see him doing… something. Rearranging his desk. Scrolling through his phone. Maybe flipping through a book. Anything other than just standing there waiting for her. Taina flinched at his unexpected proximity. </p><p>“Are you alright?” Gustave asked.</p><p>That same unidentifiable expression covered his face. She reached out her hand and caressed his cheek, clean-shaven, warm. Then she felt Gustave lean into her touch. A shock, Taina’s heart faltered at the sensation, and her breath lost its rhythm. “I’m doing better now.”</p><p>“Did you find Harry?”</p><p>“I—” she stammered. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Gustave’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly at her words, and she frowned at herself. “I— not right now, at least. I just want to feel better right now.”</p><p>Gustave nodded and smiled at her. A wide and bright smile, teeth showing. He leaned forward and captured her lips in his. Her arms snaked around his neck, and she kissed him back even harder. </p><p>And for the first time that night, time blurred to her. A pleasant haze.</p><p>At some point they grew tired of standing, and they migrated to the bed. At some point after that, Taina also grew tired of having all her clothes on. This despite the fact she found herself too drained for anything other than her hands on Gustave’s body and his mouth on hers. Still, she tugged Gustave’s black t-shirt over his head and then removed her own sweatshirt. She wasn’t even sure why. Just to feel his skin against hers, or maybe because his body heat kept her warmer than any article of clothing ever could. Sitting at the head of the bed, Taina straddled him, wove her fingers through his hair, and kissed him until she felt her lips transition from tender to aching to numb. Letting time blow by her.</p><p>Taina paused to drink in the air and catch her breath. She rested her forehead on his, his skin hot against hers. Gustave chuckled—she could barely decipher the tune from the distant screeching orchestral music and the clamouring of guns and explosions from the movie all the way on the other side of the building. It vibrated through the walls and infiltrated her newfound solace. But she had no major complaints. Taina gave him a quick peck before getting upright on her knees to crawl off him.</p><p>“<em>Non</em>.” His hands braced against her bare waist. Gustave stared up at her and gave her a petite and endearing pout. She flicked up an eyebrow at the mild look of disappointment. “I want to hold you,” Gustave said.</p><p>Flames flooded Taina’s cheeks yet an electric chill surged in her veins, a thrill. She averted her gaze, fingers fiddling with the end of her braid hanging over her shoulder until she ripped out the elastic securing it. She settled back onto his lap and cozied up against his chest as he captured her in a gentle embrace. Face, nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Arms, draped over his muscular shoulders. Comfort. Gustave’s fingertips roamed across her skin, blazing trails, leaving tingling ripples. Disordered patterns along her lower back, up over the clasps of her bra, up towards the skin of her neck, soothing her. Taina cuddled even closer into him. Her lips brushed over the skin under his jaw, and she grazed her nails through the superfine baby hairs at the nape of his neck. Inhale, exhale.</p><p>“Gustave?” she whispered aimlessly. Within an instant, addicted to sound of his name in her voice and the the feel of it on her lips, her tongue—a name she rarely used out of concern for that very addiction.</p><p>“<em>Oui?</em>”</p><p>She felt something—it fizzed on her tongue pleading for liberation. Any attempt to swallow it left a buzzing at the back of her throat until she couldn’t keep it subdued anymore. “The reason I haven’t talked about Bolivia to anyone is there’s nothing to say,” she said. A whisper.</p><p>Taina bit down on the inside of the cheek to impede herself from speaking any further. Gustave’s touch dissipated; the tracing of patterns ceased at her statement for half a moment—like he needed to process the words. That she was speaking at all. And then just like that, his middle finger ran a curvy S-like shape along her skin just above her tailbone. Taina’s eyes studied the textured wall behind him. The light casted the smallest of shadows along the rich but uneven beige paint. </p><p>“It was— not stressful… taxing, I guess. Probably a bit foolish, but I wasn’t scared. I knew what I was doing.” She knew exactly who she was: the one in control. “I was fine until I came back, and now…”</p><p>She let that train of thought derail. Suspenseful, heavy bass rumbled through the wall structure once more. Taina slipped her arms tighter around Gustave, hands gripping onto him, like she was at risk of slipping away forever.</p><p>“Now what?” he asked when she grew too silent.</p><p>“Now everything’s gone to shit.”</p><p>Taina snapped upright, slack jawed and eyes budging. Her head shook viciously. So hard her vision blurred and the beginnings of a headache coalesced. What lingered of her braid scattered apart at the motion.</p><p>“Wait, no! No. That’s not true. I didn’t mean that.”</p><p>Desperation and dizziness blinded her from seeing Gustave nod.</p><p>She clutched at him, clamping his face in between her hands, and peered deep into his tender yet exuberant eyes. “<em>I didn’t mean that.</em>”</p><p>“I know, Taina.”</p><p>Gustave smiled—an attempt to assure that he required no convincing. His hand moved from her back and brushed up along her neck. He chuckled at her flustered state, sending short, cool staccato breaths across her face. With a smirk breaking upon his peachy-pink lips, his fingers combed through the roots of her thick dark chestnut brown hair. One flick of his wrist sent strands flinging around her, draping over her shoulders. A look she very rarely went for. Too feminine and docile-looking. Plus it aways, <em>always</em> got in the way.</p><p>As if proving the point in her mind, Gustave tucked a couple strand of loose hair behind her ear. “<em>Pourquoi es-tu si belle?</em>”</p><p>Taina half-scowled despite the delight rushing through her. Her reasons were twofold: the first being that she had a feeling he opted to express his thought in French to keep her out of the loop, and she hated not knowing exactly what he was saying; the second being that she knew enough to comprehend the gist of what he said, and she didn’t know if she could ever bring herself to not flounder at flattery. Particularly his. As such, heat still radiated from her cheeks. Regardless, that scowl of her’s melted and evolved into a smile as he beamed back. </p><p>Gustave inclined towards her, and Taina quickly closed the distance by crashing her mouth onto his. Her lips all hypersensitive, tongue eager to find his. A hungry, hard kiss. With time, one became two which became many. Kisses that grew softer and slower, more delicate and inconsequential until his lips upon hers seemed nothing more than a summer breeze.</p><p>Footsteps sounded from the hallway.</p><p>On instinct Taina tore away from him. The poor reactive habit she’d conditioned herself into. A false alarm. She heaved a sigh that meddled with a laugh and forced her body to release the tension that had built up. </p><p>Gustave propped a finger under her chin which forced her to lock eyes with him. He whispered, “So, what <em>do</em> you mean?”</p><p>Her lips squished into a tight line. She had hoped he would let the topic slip away into the abyss. A naive notion—his genuine concern surrendered to nothing. Serving for a distraction, she curled her fingers around his left ear, watching strands from the patch of grey near his temple oblige her whims. “I just mean I—” Where to even begin? She felt a stranger inside her own skin, a husk of who she was supposed to be. Sometimes she swore she didn’t even recognize her face anymore. She recalled no comparative moments in her past where she had been as emotionally contested as she found herself now. An imposter, or some breakable for reality to crush in its palm. A captive to chaos.</p><p>“I’m lost.” </p><p>Only the distant sound of staged gunfire and the wails of another windy night occupied the quiet. No words. No movement. Unable to break the silence and thus letting it break her.</p><p>Gustave’s lips parted, and his entire demeanour shifted like he hurt for her—and it occurred to her for the first time that maybe in his way he did. She struggled having a true grasp on sympathy. Never mind empathy. A completely foreign concept. Compromising herself did personal harm. She never stopped to consider any potential collateral from that. How was he even withstanding all of it—all of her? Every extreme and intense part of her. Was one person dealing with the suffering not enough?</p><p>
  <em>Run.</em>
</p><p>“Never mind.” She wanted nothing more than to rewind the entire moment. Way too bare. Exposed—something prone to consequence. Taina returned to burrowing her face into Gustave’s neck.</p><p>He curved an arm around her, right by her hips, and gave her a gentle but assertive tug to pull her in closer. A diminutive adjustment, but it conquered what little space remained between them. Then, like nothing had happened, the pads of his fingers continued the trek along her body. Zig-zagging patterns this time, hushing her skin.</p><p>“Tell me something,” she said.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“No, tell me <em>something</em>. Anything.”</p><p>Gustave ‘hmm’ed to himself.</p><p><em>‘I’m lost.</em>’</p><p>Taina jammed her eyelids shut. “Tell me about France,” she suggested, frantic. She needed his voice to slay the void allowing her own thoughts to slither to the forefront of her mind and fester there.</p><p>“What do you want to know?”</p><p>She wasn’t even sure. It didn’t even matter. She just wanted to hear him. To focus on the dulcet cadence of his voice. To try and find a melody in the robust accent. Taina rotated her head to rest her cheek along Gustave’s shoulder. And while her cheeks still hosted embers, her ear felt frigid against his skin. The breaths she took filled with him—something musky like myrrh, her chest skimming along his, rising and falling, over and over. </p><p>“Why is the national anthem so violent?” Taina asked. “I’ve never heard anything that virile my entire life.”</p><p>A full, booming laugh caught her off-guard, but she couldn’t help but grin at the accomplishment. “I have absolutely no idea.”</p><p>“Don’t get me wrong, I like it.” The tune faded in and out of her memory in bits and pieces despite her best efforts to recall it. She asked instead, “What’s it like growing up there? What’s it like at all?”</p><p>Gustave ‘hmm’ed once more, but she could hear his smile in this one while he thought. Joy. Perhaps a twinge of nostalgia. “It’s beautiful. Sometimes I feel I grew up spoiled living in Paris. It’s a cornucopia of culture. The Eiffel tower, the Louvre, Notre-Dame, Arc de Triomphe—there are so many significant landmarks.”</p><p>Swaying. Taina swore she was swaying in his arms like a buoy upon the water, ebbing and flowing as one while he spoke. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she noticed her breathing slow on its own accord.</p><p>“There’s so much more outside of Paris though. Seeing Nimes feels like going back in time to a Greco-Roman world. Châteaux de la Loire; it’s an entire valley along the Loire river lined with châteaux and mansions. The architecture is marvellous. Being in Giverny is like stepping inside a painting. Versailles, of course, but I don’t think anywhere is as beautiful as Annecy.”</p><p>Lush frames crystallized behind her closed eyes—flashes of vivd hues, shapes and forms, both mundane and otherworldly. A distant fairytale like castles in the air. Unattainable or not, the image pleased her.</p><p>“Paris is home, but I think the real beauty of France shines outside of Paris,” Gustave said. “Besides, a lot of us Parisians are either snobbish or bourgeois, God forbid both.</p><p>Taina laughed, knowing he was doubtlessly neither.</p><p>“You’ve never been?”</p><p>“No,” she said. “It sounds remarkable.”</p><p>“I’ll have to take you there sometime.”</p><p>Her eyes tore open. The kaleidoscope of pictures continued rotating through her mind as she sat up. The veil of sleepiness had been stripped from over her the moment her gaze met his. Taina reached up, and her thumb traced the curve of his smile. It unleashed an overwhelming desire impossible to weather. She ducked in closer to kiss him.</p><p>“Taina,” Gustave whispered against her lips before she could. “I—”</p><p>It took everything in her to not take his lips in hers so he could speak. “Hm?” Her gaze drifted downwards to her delayed destination. Pale lips. Delicate. Tempting. Most annoyingly, sealed. She peered back into his gleaming eyes. “What?”</p><p>“I love y—”</p><p>“<em>No</em>.”</p><p>The word fired out like a missile and detonated throughout the noiseless room. Basic instinct. Louder than intended, almost deafening somehow. And she felt its destructive impact blow through her—shockwaves and all. </p><p><em>Run. </em>Adrenaline kicked her heart rate into overdrive. Despite her verbal response, any further reactions become deadened. Eyes—blank. Breaths—level. Everything utterly still.</p><p>Even though she swore she was drowning.</p><p>Even though she could have screamed.</p><p>Taina settled, instead, for gnawing through the flesh on the inside of her lip.</p><p>
  <em>Run.</em>
</p><p>Gustave’s stare brushed over her face before he said, “Okay.” Then he smiled at her. Not insincere, but never reaching anything beyond the corners of his lips. Definitely more than she deserved though. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>She dropped her head back onto his shoulder. A bout of nausea stabbed at her. Her vision burned white like she had been flash-banged. Taina swallowed and nearly choked on the mix of bile and blood pooling in her mouth, travelling down her throat.</p><p>
  <em>Run.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Run</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone! Thanks as always for reading and supporting this story. I really do appreciate it. I apologize in advance that you are about to board the angst train for a few chapters. I hope you still enjoy through the minor pain! Thank you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wet dirt squelched under each forceful step. The dark of night still lingered in the air, shades of black and navy and blue. The only light—dawn streaking a murky orange rivulet along the horizon in defiance of the rain clouds hovering overhead. A drizzle collided with her skin, nullifying any traces of sweat forming along the run. Cold water seeped through the hood of her sweater and then through the strands of her hair only to trickle along her scalp. The early hour chill and that of the storm sank deep into her bones. Frozen from the inside out, Taina could see her breaths—clouds of white jutting out in spurts. The taste of two and a half cups of pitch black coffee, which she had already downed by 4:30, still occupied her mouth. Coffee, an alternative for what she wished she could have overindulged in—rum. Or tequila. Or anything else before coffee. But she had drank herself out of that last time, and hadn’t found to the time to restock her stash.</p>
<p>
  <em>Caimanes.</em>
</p>
<p><em>No.</em> Her eyes heaved shut. <em>Stop it.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>João.</em>
</p>
<p>The sound of a hundred raindrops splashing into already-forming puddles—a welcome invasion of noise.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘I’m lost.’</em>
</p>
<p>Water slapped against the leaves of aged trees lining her muddy and uneven path.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘Taina. I—’</em>
</p>
<p>Acid from all the coffee in her stomach spewed back up her throat.</p>
<p>Her sprinting slackened to a jog until she harnessed enough willpower to come to a complete standstill. Taina hunched over, hands braced on her knees. An excess of saliva pooled around her tongue and dripped out of her gaping mouth. ‘<em>Do not vomit on this base</em>,’ she ordered. From her hunched position, she could peer up and make out only vague shapes of the tarmac and the row of jets sitting in wait. The darkness obscured much, and water blurred her vision. She blamed the rain—it was easier to justify.</p>
<p>Taina spat out what sourness had gathered and stood back up. Her eyes slipped shut again, face turning skyward. She let the rain pour over her and overrule all consciousness. Her damp clothing dangled from her limbs. Droplets weighed down her eyelashes. Under her hood, down her spine. The rain completely soaked her. She indulged in the sensation though, as if the water washing over her could erase her sins—some kind of baptism by nature.</p>
<p>Her right hand slithered into the pocket of her sweater. Droplets dribbling over her lips spewed into the air with her huff. She withdrew her hand while her thumb depressed the tiny button—<em>woosh.</em></p>
<p>Drops of rain slashed down upon the silver length of the blade and ruptured into even smaller droplets. She dragged her cold and drenched thumb along the sharp edge, a caress. <em>‘I wonder if he’s awake,</em>’ Taina thought. She wasn’t even sure of the time. 5:30? Maybe just past 6?</p>
<p>Her lower lip quivered. She tried to bite down on it to contain herself. Instead her teeth just ground into the cavity of missing flesh, already bitten away. It hurt. But she didn’t care. ‘<em>I deserve it</em>.’</p>
<p>Taina bit down harder. </p>
<p>Her imagination ran rampant, index finger jabbing at the point of the blade. Over. And over. And over. Gustave’s eyes fluttering open in his shadow-blanketed room. Confusion before realizing her body no longer lay next to his. That she was gone. That she had left him.</p>
<p>How hurt he would be.</p>
<p>The switchblade’s tip stabbed through the layer of skin and lanced her flesh.</p>
<p>“Fuck!”</p>
<p>Taina wrenched her hand away. The rising sun ruptured over the horizon—enough for her to survey the physical damage done. Rain pelted the viscous blood beading on her fingertip, diluting it into a reddish inky stream which ran down her finger. Her right hand folded the switchblade and tucked it back into her pocket. She twisted the heels of her palms into her eye sockets to force out the water filling in and spilling over from her eyes. A couple blinks, and the world around her clarified. Crisp lines. Concrete shapes. She could see some of the lights inside the base turning back on. Definitely after 6.</p>
<p>Taina raised her hand to eye level and observed the cut. Dead center of her fingerprint. Deep. Still bleeding. Using both nails of her thumbs, she pinched the surrounding skin together, willing it to magically heal itself. ‘<em>You can’t undo this</em>,’ said the monster dwelling in the dark corners of her mind. ‘<em>Like so many other things you’ve done.</em>’ A whine clawed at her throat. </p>
<p>Her nails pressed deep into the pad of her finger and this time she pried, splaying the skin apart. The small but deep cut widened. Stretched, so far the thin line gaped—circular. A mouth demanding to be fed.</p>
<p>Mineral-leaden rainwater battered down into the open wound. Taina flinched. The deep stinging forced her hand to clench. “<em>Merda!</em>”</p>
<p>Taina yanked the soaked hood down from over her head—no point in it anymore—before ambling over to the cobblestone path leading to the doors of the residence building. Rain and puddles babbled musically at her. Arriving at the entrance, she removed her sweater and tried wringing out the worst of the water. Mud had caked her runners. She removed both them and her socks and did what she could to dry her feet off on one of the mats at the main door. Sweater under one arm, shoes dangling by the heels in her other hand, she attempted to get herself to her room as covertly as possible... but she only made it half a dozen steps.</p>
<p>“Yikes,” someone said from behind her. </p>
<p>Seamus. </p>
<p>“Ah, look what the cat’s dragged in!” </p>
<p>Taina groaned. Seamus <em>and</em> Mike—a tag team of British disaster. She pivoted to face them. The two sat in the otherwise abandoned commons area, and both, for some reason despite the abominable time, fully dressed in their SAS uniforms. Seamus gaped at her with wide eyes peeking over the top of his book of crosswords. Mike sat at the table with him, teacup in hand and a silver vintage strainer off to the side. Taina could see the steam rising up from the beverage. </p>
<p>“Ha ha,” she muttered. Rain plastered the side bangs to her forehead and cheek. She scrubbed her wrist against the strands while trying not to whack herself in the face with her muddy shoes.</p>
<p>Mike commented, “You look like shite.”</p>
<p>“You look like someone who’s about to die,” Taina snapped back.</p>
<p>“You went for a run in the rain?” Seamus asked.</p>
<p>“I went for a run and then it started raining,” she said. Next she fired a spiteful look Thatcher’s way, smiting his very existence. “Happens a lot in this <em>shite</em> country of yours.”</p>
<p>The man scratched at his thick and defined moustache. “Oi, calm down.”</p>
<p>“Stop talking to me.” She readjusted the sweater balled under her arm and darted towards the hallway.</p>
<p>“Group meeting at 8,” Mike shouted after her. “Better clean yourself up.”</p>
<p>Taina slammed her bedroom door behind her. <em>Bastard.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>She thought Mike was just being an asshole, but the message on her phone from Six proved otherwise. And by group, she didn’t just mean between operators. Taina, zipping up the plain black sweater over her BOPE uniform, sprinted through the corridor in an attempt to close in on the group of Russians ahead of her. She stalked them, using Tachanka’s boisterous voice as guidance, to the conference room—the largest one she had seen to date inside the Rainbow headquarters. Water stained windows lined the slowly crowding room. In the core of the space, a long stretching wooden table accessorized with a dozen chairs all facing a podium at the front. Behind that, a large but blank screen. Harry stood at the door like a guardian, and he counted every operator that entered. A few people Taina didn’t recognize, or at least couldn’t recall ever meeting, sat in some of the chairs. On the other hand, all the operators opted for standing.</p>
<p>Taina approached the group closest to the door, and she wedged herself between Bandit, who was mid German conversation with Blitz, and Zofia, who stood, arms folded in anticipation. Attentive but appearing apprehensive—so much so she failed to notice Taina’s approach. “Any idea what’s going on?”</p>
<p>Zofia did a double take at Taina, baffled at her sudden closeness. “None.” </p>
<p>The door shut behind them. In the moment it did, the air seemed to immediately thicken and grow heavy, hot with everyone’s breaths.</p>
<p>“That’s everyone,” Harry announced.</p>
<p>Six, decked out in her standard professional garb of single toned dress pants, blouse, and blazer, emerged from the corner she had been lingering in. Settling before the podium, she had nothing in her hands. No documents. No reference. No script. All signs whittling Taina’s thoughts into one solitary question—<em>what the hell is going on?</em></p>
<p>Aurelia cleared her throat to speak.</p>
<p>Taina’s eyes deviated, fingers fiddling with one of her skull and crossbones earrings until it turned to sit right side up, and her superior’s words immediately went unheard. Taina scanned through the faces on the other side of the room. Faces of her coworkers. The faces of strangers, just in case. But she couldn’t find him. She slanted her body back, spine curving, to peer around the eldest Bosak sister’s frame. Nothing. Harry had said all operators were present though. Taina hunched forward to try and catch a glimpse of the people on the other side of Blitz and Bandit. Her hair, still damp at the roots—not from the rain but from the hot shower she had taken. And despite the raging temperatures, the wet strands chilled her skin every time she ducked and tilted. </p>
<p><em>Where is he?</em> <em>If something happened I’m going to—</em></p>
<p>To glance around Zofia once more, Taina took a step backwards.</p>
<p>
  <em>Thump.</em>
</p>
<p>Her eyes bulged, and she took a quick step forward, ranting internally the entire time: <em>Fucking tiny conference rooms. Why did everyone have to be here? Why not have a video conference? Why shove everyone in the same damn room?</em> Questions she realized in the back of her mind that she may have answers to if she was paying even an ounce of attention. Taina twisted around to glance at what she had crashed into.</p>
<p>Rather, who. </p>
<p>The stark white against navy blue was all she needed to see. </p>
<p><em>Fuck.</em> Taina turned back around. But the entire image—burned and ingrained inside her mind, playing behind her tightly closed eyes when she winced. Exhaustion. Empty eyes. Dejection. Sinking eyebrows. A sad sham of a smile.</p>
<p>Malaise overrode her every faculty. <em>Fuck</em>.</p>
<p>The taste of bile—a memory. Her nails scratched at the small scab on her finger.</p>
<p>Taina blinked, rapid, demanding her mind to concentrate on the words pouring out of Aurelia’s mouth. Her eyes narrowed, analyzing each movement Six’s lips committed—to read her words rather than listen. She couldn’t hear past the wailing sirens echoing in her thoughtless, desolate brain.</p>
<p>“Meaning as of midnight, I will no longer be the director of Rainbow.”</p>
<p>Everyone began murmuring to each other. Sense finally clicked into place in Taina’s mind—Aurelia saying she couldn’t help her, that it was out of her hands. That Taina’s probation was out of her hands. Her fate lay with someone else now. One big, indestructible question mark. </p>
<p>The scab tore from the rest of her flesh. Taina’s entire body wavered at the pain—significant from such a little cut.</p>
<p>“Who will be?” someone—she was fairly certain it was Ash—asked.</p>
<p>Aurelia smiled and took a step back from the varnished podium. She raised one hand and gestured to the back of the conference room.</p>
<p>Taina watched everyone else turn around to follow the implied line. She refused. Everyone suddenly applauded, and she joined in, trying to smile at Aurelia instead of whoever everyone else was clapping for. Taina felt a droplet of blood flick off her left index finger and splatter on the back of her right hand. <em>Shit.</em></p>
<p>“I can think of no better replacement,” Aurelia said, “than the man who has advised me through everything since the reinstatement of Rainbow. In many ways, the success of Rainbow has been in your hands already, so I know its success will continue to be safe and secure with you in charge.”</p>
<p>Harry broke free of the crowd and took his place next to Aurelia. She stepped aside and let Harry speak before the podium. Taina wanted to listen, but all she could hear was a constant, low cadence.<em> Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. </em>A hallucination—breaths lapping against the back of her neck. She scrubbed the blood from her finger off on the opposite wrist. </p>
<p>“There will be a gathering tonight at seven. We’ve booked the assembly hall at the Town Hall in Hereford to celebrate Mrs. Arnot. We figured you could use a night out as well—you’ve all earned it.”</p>
<p>Some of the operators cheered in excitement, others applauded. As Harry continued speaking, Taina’s thumb wiped away whatever blood had resurfaced. Her own skin stung against the wound. Gouged layers of flesh. When she peered up, Zofia fell away and migrated towards the door with a herd of others. The space at Taina’s side—a void. A void that Gustave was quick to occupy for himself, taking two steps forward and placing himself at her side. The edge of Taina’s nail delved into the open cut on her finger. Every molecule of her attention, swept up in the pain—the aching sting, the soreness from the cut itself, bone deep and shooting down her palm. Taina sighed, long and deep, until her lungs seemed to shrivel in her chest. The subsequent inhalation filled with the familiar smell of him. Braving the brewing storm, she glanced over only to find him watching her. Gustave looked as tired as she felt. A corrosive burn blanketed her eyes the longer they remained open. And even though he tried to smile, beholding her appeared to trouble him further. Drooping eyes and a smile that faltered.</p>
<p>Gustave’s entire body thrashed back and forth three times—under the mercy of Julien’s hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go give them a congrats,” Rook said. </p>
<p>Despite never taking his eyes off Taina, he acquiesced and allowed Rook to shove him by towards the head of the room. An escape… for now. Taina’s posture collapsed a mere moment after he receded from her sight. She raised her index finger. The bare act of bleeding sent pain rippling below the surface. She trailed after Clash, already making her way to the door. Swallowed up in the incessant sound of chatter, like gnats buzzing, she surrendered. The nail of her thumb—its edge, prying up and under her split open skin. </p>
<p>She stole a final glance backwards.</p>
<p>Gustave and Julien matched. Deep almost-black blues. But Doc’s white lab coat stood out, the only major difference between them. Gustave stood with his hands in his pockets. Balled fists, she imagined. Julien carried an enthralled conversation with Harry while Gustave gazed back at her. </p>
<p>
  <em>Ow.</em>
</p>
<p>Taina rushed out of the room and dashed down the hallway. Her attention settled on her hands—blood staining the underside of her nail, surging from the rift in her skin, filling the crevices of her whorl fingerprint. Ignoring any signs of trembling. ‘<em>God, I’m tired</em>,’ she thought. Tired of thinking. Tired of bleeding. Tired of wondering how long she could keep this up.</p>
<p>Tired.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Knock, knock.</em>
</p>
<p>Taina growled. Her scabbed pointer finger yanked at the skin gathered along the outer corner of her eye. “Who is it?” she yelled. ‘<em>It better not be Doc.</em>’ She had done a good job of avoiding him for the rest of the day—a scripted fabrication she repeated to herself. The fact? That wasn’t really the case. She had a sneaking suspicion Gustave knew her exact issue and that he likely wanted to give her distance.</p>
<p>“It’s me. Em.”</p>
<p>“Come in then,” Taina said before leaning closer to her mirror and running an angled makeup brushed clumped with black across her eyelid.</p>
<p>The door clicked open, proceeded by a series of lighter, airier clacks. “You look great— Oh, Taina,” Emmanuelle groaned.</p>
<p>Taina straightened up, peeling back from the mirror, brush a secure distance from her face, which she had spent way too much time applying makeup to. And if she fucked it up now with one giant black smear, there would be hell to pay. Taina held the brush further away just in case.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Please tell me you’re not using face paint as eyeliner.” Emmanuelle’s hands wove together, praying to God for the right answer to follow. </p>
<p>“My stick broke.”</p>
<p>“Oh Lord—”</p>
<p>“I thought it was ingenious.”</p>
<p>“Hold on,” Emmanuelle grumbled, and she pounced deeper into the room. The royal blue dress cascading down her slim body fluttered through the air with each movement. “I’m telling IQ and Ela to go. We’ll catch another cab and meet them there.” She swiped the brush out of Taina’s hand and trekked back to the door. </p>
<p>“If you gave me my stuff back, I’d be finished in two seconds.”</p>
<p>Emmanuelle paused. Next she turned, heels gliding along the hardwood. Her hands fiddled with the brush she had stolen, and she pressed her lips into a thin line. On the verge of reconsidering. So close, and yet— “No, I’m sorry,” she said as she shook her head. The motion bounced her loose mahogany curls in all directions. “This isn’t acceptable.”</p>
<p>Taina sighed and watched Emmanuelle exit into the hallway and out of view. </p>
<p>Elbows mounted on her desk, she cradled her cheek in her palm and stared down whatever sight the mirror reflected. </p>
<p>Red eyes. Every capillary, swollen and visible. Tired. She hadn’t been crying but maybe the struggle to resist was enough to wear her eyes out anyway. Worse she had caught herself sneezing. ‘<em>This fucking country and its fucking rain.</em>’ It wasn’t even the good kind of rain. Not the warm drizzle and downpours that people enjoy dancing in. The cold rain. The despicable kind that makes you feel disgusting from the inside out. The kind that makes you immediately feel sick. </p>
<p>Red tainted more than just her eyes—a bleeding lip. Taina studied the copy of herself, sucking her lower lip into her mouth, feeling the swell near the split, tasting the iron. </p>
<p>Misery incarnate.</p>
<p>She reached over for a tube of lip chap, mesmerized by the way it glided over her haggard lips until it coated them. She readied her lipstick next. Flamenco red. The hue smeared against her lips to mask any cracks and camouflage whatever blood remained. </p>
<p>“Here we are!”</p>
<p>Emmanuelle’s heels clicked, growing louder and louder until reaching the floor behind Taina and falling silent. She set down one eyeliner pencil, an eyeliner pen, and a clean, clump-free brush with a pot of eyeliner. Legitimate eyeliner. Taina opted for the route of familiarity and plucked the pencil. The transparent lid popped when she tore it off. The tip, freshly sharpened to a point. “Thank you,” Taina muttered before hunching forward and getting back to work on her left eyelid.</p>
<p>“Can we talk?”</p>
<p>Taina groaned, but she never said <em>no</em>.</p>
<p>The absence of such refusal spurred Emmanuelle on. “Are you okay?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine.”</p>
<p>Out of the corner of her eye, Taina could see Twitch start to wander, to pace. She fidgeted—her nails running along her fingertips, picking at the cuticles. <em>Focus</em>. Taina forced the distraction out of her mind and narrowed in on trying to draw an even remotely straight line across her eyelid while Emmanuelle continued on her anxious rampage. “Okay. Good. I’m only asking because you were yelling at Vicente earlier.”</p>
<p>“Vicente was being annoying.”</p>
<p>“Right, but I also heard you tried fighting Eliza as well.”</p>
<p>Taina huffed. <em>Only half true.</em> “She wanted to fight me. I just dared her to try.” True enough she had been <em>way</em> more than willing to partake. <em>But I didn’t</em>, she thought.<em> That should count for something.</em></p>
<p>“And Meghan? She said she tried talking to you a while ago about what happened, but you weren’t… receptive to that.”</p>
<p>Taina lowered the pencil of liner and snapped, “Okay, mother!” The incident flickered like a technical glitch in her recollection. It felt like months ago. Not days. Like an entirely different lifetime. Every one of those days, facing a new hell she made for herself. She flicked at the scab on her finger. “Standing there berating me doesn’t qualify as <em>talking</em> in my books.”</p>
<p>“Ugh. I figured that’s what happened.” Emmanuelle finally reined over her restlessness. Instead, she stalked over to Taina’s desk. Tall enough with her heels on top of already long legs, she was able to hitch up the bottom of her dress and sit comfortably on the desk top. With the nearness, Taina could smell the perfume breezing off her body. Unplaceable notes or tones. Just expensive-smelling and inevitably Parisian. “I was also going to try and talk to you after that. I was starting to worry about you. Especially after what you did to yourself.”</p>
<p>Taina rubbernecked at Emmanuelle’s choice of words.</p>
<p>Emmanuelle tilted her head a few degrees to the left in response, not entirely sure if Taina had forgotten or chose to feigning innocence. Emma reached out and tapped a finger against Taina’s hand, which rested on the desk, still holding onto the eyeliner pencil. Right by her healed knuckle.</p>
<p>Taina’s eyes shot wide open. “That French bastard!”</p>
<p>“Oh, please, Taina!” Emmanuelle said with a laugh. “I didn’t need Doc to tell me anything. It doesn’t take a genius—or an engineer—to approximate what happened. We all know you have a fondness for hitting things.”</p>
<p>Taina frowned. “He didn’t tell you anything?”</p>
<p>“No.” Emmanuelle said, almost laughing. But then she caught something in the loaded question. “Why? Should he have?”</p>
<p>Taina’s tongue grazed the cavity of flesh missing from inside her lip. “No.”</p>
<p>“I was going to try talking to you, but then you seemed to recover from whatever was going on. You seemed back to normal. Almost happy, I’d say, despite everything, so I figured the best thing to do was just let it go.” Emma shrugged at her own decision, finding the space for doubt. “I didn’t want to bring everything back up if it was just going to make you feel worse, but now you’re suddenly blowing up at everyone.” </p>
<p>Almost happy. <em>I was, maybe</em>, Taina thought. Almost. It seemed so far gone now. Foolish of them both to think things could ever really change though. She ground the edge of the eyeliner pencil against her eyelid, pressing down so hard she imagined her eyeball might pop like a water balloon, and the pencil left a thick black trail.</p>
<p>“Blowing up more than usual,” Emmanuelle added before Taina could make any smart-ass comment about her standard state of being.</p>
<p>A quietness hung between them but Taina was more than okay with that. She studied her own reflection once more. The person on the other side looked <em>okay</em>. All Taina could grant—okay. Nothing near good, but okay. Maybe she was biased though. The mirror couldn’t reflect the soul, the disorder that hid inside. </p>
<p>“Is it because of something that happened in Bolivia—”</p>
<p>“<em>My God!</em>” Taina jolted out of her desk chair, so forceful it ground against the floor and wobbled at the jerking movement. “People need to stop asking me about what happened in Bolivia. Nothing happened there!”</p>
<p>The sound of her own yelling danced back through her mind alongside a rampant heartbeat. Echoing, even though she had stopped. ‘<em>I’m lost.</em>’ Her eyes coaxed shut, and her hand tore through the roots of her hair she already regretted leaving down. The urge to yank every strand out took hold. She opened her eyes again to peer at Emmanuelle—not cowering, not mad, just... hurt. A bit of worry there perhaps.</p>
<p>“Em... I’m so sorry, Em. I just—”</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m falling apart.</em>
</p>
<p>Emmanuelle stepped up to Taina and flung her arms around her for a hug. A stationary and cautionary hug, but a kind hug nonetheless. “It’s okay if this has impacted you though, Taina. It should have. I saw it too. It was brutal. And you went there on your own to save your family. That’s a lot to cope with for <em>anyone.</em>” Taina groaned again, body still seized up. Emmanuelle broke out of their hug but kept a tight grip on Taina's bare shoulders. “I’m just saying… it’s okay to not be okay for once in your life. And whenever you’re ready to talk—if you want to talk—I’m willing to listen.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Taina said. <em>Tempting</em>. All the words she could say gurgling at the back of the throat, ready to be purged from her body and mind. But Taina knew the majority of her issues superseded anything to do with Bolivia, and she didn’t know how to talk to her without opening a whole other condemning can of worms. “Maybe soon. Just… not right now.” Besides, Taina knew she could only do so much talking in one day—a finite and precious resource that she couldn’t squander—and it didn’t feel right to keep distancing herself from Gustave without any kind of defence. </p>
<p>“Alright.” Emmanuelle nodded and gave Taina her best smile. “Let’s just go and have some fun then, yes?”</p>
<p>Taina popped the cap onto Twitch’s eyeliner pencil, leaned over in her chair to gather her purse, and slipped her hand through the wrist strap. With that, she hooked her arm through Emmanuelle’s. “<em>On y va</em>.”</p>
<p>“Oh, <em>très bien!</em> Look at you go!” Emmanuelle said as they marched out of Taina’s bedroom. “Where did you learn that one?”</p>
<p>“Secrets,” Taina replied. Of which, she had many, and they were all slowly burdening her. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Can You See Me Now?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mellow classical music reverberated through the historic building’s assembly hall. Flutes swirled and drifted between notes while violins plucked, like a babbling brook. Taina studied her surroundings—an antique-inspired hall heavily accented by deep, royal blues: a double staircase carpeted with cobalt, Corinthian columns that appeared to be composed of pure lapis lazuli, even the flowers sprouting out of porcelain white vases flaunted shades of periwinkle and azure. Emmanuelle darted to the right to join the group swarming Aurelia and giving her another round of congratulations. Taina kept her’s short. Congratulations. Such an opportunity. You’ll be missed. She thought about apologizing for earlier as well but she found it to be a moot point. And while Emmanuelle stood by and listened to Aurelia’s sentimental story, Taina couldn’t pull her attention away from the staticky something balling in her gut. She was too still, and there were too many people. Little by little she deviated from the pack of Rainbow employees until she felt they no longer noticed her. A ghost. At home. Free, Taina wandered. Instinct guided the way. Meandering around groups of people, slipping wordlessly by waiters. Aimless. Silver platters of hors d'oeuvres congested a doily-covered table against the wall on the other side of the room. Next to that, a second table manned by two gentlemen. A table covered in plastic cups and large glass bottles. A makeshift bar.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, thank God.</em>
</p><p>Trying to not disturb the half up-do, with a cautious yank Taina tore loose a chunk of hair trapped under the strap of her dress. Then she bee-lined it, cutting through throngs of people, taking the shortest route to the bar table where Smoke, wearing dark blue dress pants and a pale lilac dress shirt, finished up. He carried two plastic cups, one in each hand and moved in her direction.</p><p>“Porter,” Taina said when their paths crossed. </p><p>“Cav.” He diminished his pace, slowly spinning around to face her again with minimal spillage. He nudged his chin in the direction of the bartender table. “Watch out for the chap with the beard.”</p><p>She froze. “Why?”</p><p>“He’s pours drinks like a bloody nun,” he said with an obvious note of displeasure. Then he smirked.  “Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”</p><p>“<em>Me?</em>”</p><p>James laughed before taking a sip from the cup in his left hand. His eyes shot open. “Go to ol’ Sweater Vest. He pours ‘em stiffer than a board.”</p><p>Taina peered over at the bar. The man had passed his prime. The argyle patterned vest stood out and made him appear more nun-like of the two. Who would have guess? She smiled at James. “Thank you for your service.”</p><p>He nodded back and walked deeper into the masses. </p><p>The blue rug hushed each step she made in her black ankle strap heels. Sweater Vest smiled at her from the opposite side of the table. Taina studied the options before her, different toned bottles filled with different liquids at differing volumes. Multicoloured labels, half a dozen languages. Vodka. Whiskey. Rum. Red Wine, which wouldn’t get her very far. Her choice needed mileage. “Can I get a rum and…” Her eyes scanned over the rainbow of plastic bottles and cartons filled with sodas and juice for mix. She unhooked the clasp of the clutch purse dangling from her wrist. “Whatever. Just rum for all I care.”</p><p>She splayed open her purse and withdrew her slate trifold wallet padded with various pieces of identification and transaction cards from a handful of ranging countries and agencies. Her fingers stretched open the cash pocket—nothing. Completely barren. Not even receipts filled the pouch. <em>Oh right</em>. She shoved the wallet back into her purse, huffing, and yanked out another smaller bifold wallet. The one she had moved all untraceable cash to before leaving for Bolivia. Cash pouch open, Taina beheld an absurd number of bills. “Shit.”</p><p>Someone loudly hacked and cleared their throat.</p><p>Taina glanced up. The old man dedicated the moment to frowning at her before pouring rum from the bottle into a plain shot glass.</p><p>“My bad.”</p><p>She clutched an entire handful of bills and leafed her way through the multicolour stack of cash—greens, blues, purples—and everything except pound sterlings. A bright red, wrinkled boliviano note rolled over her hand and fell to the ground.</p><p>“Fuck.” Taina glanced up at the bartender again and shot her hand out, still clutching a number of different 20 bills, to stop the man. “<em>Sorry</em>,” she snapped before he could scold her again.</p><p>Groaning with a hint of desperation, she fanned out the bills in her hand like a deck of cards. Over $1500 in foreign currencies. None of which she could use.</p><p>Taina flashed the man her most cunning of smiles. “You don’t accept Bolivian bolivianos, Brazilian reals, or American dollars, do you?”</p><p>The bartender watched her, deadpanned, and put in the extra effort to keep the filled cup as far from her as possible until she produced a legitimate currency with which to pay.</p><p>“It’s a joke,” Taina said. “<em>Rego do cu</em>.” She scrubbed each individual bank note between her fingers, praying for a sterling pound to be stuck, clung to another bill somewhere in her hand. The weathered material burned the pads of her finger with friction.</p><p>Someone silently sidled up to her.</p><p>A presence that immediately elicited a sigh—she already knew. </p><p>Gustave held out an orange polymer ten pound bill out to the man, the bank note dangling from in between his index and middle fingers. A tenner, she so adamantly refused to call it. The dozens and dozens of foreign bills crumpled in Taina’s clenched fists before she crammed them wherever they fit inside her purse—between both wallets, around her phone.</p><p>Cringing internally, she finally peered over. Just in time to catch Gustave bending over to pick up the abandoned boliviano. She could have easily reached over and combed her fingers through his hair, near hip level and incredibly close. So touchable. Taina clawed at the scab on her index finger instead. Maybe the pain would torture her back down to reality, remind her that they were in public—amongst colleagues and superiors. Maybe it would remind her hat she was supposed to run. Run for the hills, far away from the man who—</p><p>‘<em>Taina, I—</em>’</p><p>“Here you are,” Gustave said, having stood back up. His voice shattered her reverie into one hundred little pieces. He held the 50 boliviano note out for her to take. </p><p>She flicked her hand out and swiped the bill from him with minimal eye contact. Callous, trying way too hard to act like herself. Whoever that was. As if she even knew what that meant anymore. Usually she didn’t mind acting frigid to him in the public eye—it almost became her life-force as of late, but it felt wrong to do now. While on ice and teetering into the realm of too-far gone. “Thank you,” she said softly.</p><p>The Sweater Vest man handed Gustave his change and plopped the plastic cup brimming with a suspicious amount of ice in front of Taina. Its contents, a foreboding rich amber tone. Certainly not just rum.</p><p>But Gustave leaned closer to her and asked, “Can we talk?” and suddenly the cups content didn’t matter much anymore.</p><p>Head tilting back, body tense and bracing in anticipation of the astringent burn about to assault the back of her throat, she took a mouthful of liquor, destroying half of it in one go. <em>Swallow</em>. The taste ruptured a dam of memories—the numbness of her everything, being completely inebriated, vomiting, the hangover, the scorching tears in her eyes. Her reflexes activated, wanting to gag, wanting to vomit. <em>Just swallow</em>. Taina forced herself to gulp the liquid down, quick, violent. Every muscle in her throat ached.</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>She marched away with no concrete plan. Wild, but in control. It had felt like forever. She found a random hallway and gravitated towards it. The corridor, long and surprisingly wide, dampened any chattering and classical music bouncing around the assembly hall. Taina continued her pace until her eyes caught sight of a tarnished gold plaque next to one of the doors: Committee Room #2.</p><p>
  <em>Good enough.</em>
</p><p>She flung the door open, and her hand groped along the smooth wooden paneling of the wall until her fingers found the small protrusion. <em>Click</em>, and the lights flickered on. Fascinated, she surveyed the room as she entered. Weak yellow-white light poured out of the massive round chandeliers dangling from the ceiling, blanketing everything in a haze. Suspended from the ceilings as well were multiple Union Jacks. Mahogany chairs with ruby red padding littered the room. Wooden benches, wooden stalls, wooden everything. At the head of the space, the most regal and ornately designed chair of them all. Towering half round windows, one at the apex of each wall, donned colourful stained glass patterns to form some kind of crest. She swirled around and narrowly avoided bumping into an almost black pillar supporting a bust. Taina, hunching forward, stared into the dead and hollow eyes of the marble bust depicting some surely important historical British man with a horrific moustache.</p><p>Gustave closed the door behind him—a sonorous <em>thud</em> that resonated through the space. After that, he stood there saying nothing. </p><p>Taina tossed back the rest of her drink and dropped the cup, still loaded with chunks of ice, into the small garbage bin along the wall. </p><p>
  <em>Here we go.</em>
</p><p>She curled the loose hairs behind her ear and glanced right at him for the first time that night. A rich, dark navy suit jacket and dress pants framed his body, all accented by a crimson tie. It was weird—seeing him dressed so nicely. Granted, her own apparel choices made her feel trapped in someone else’s body too. </p><p>“You look beautiful,” Gustave uttered in a hushed voice despite two the of them being alone. Still, the room captured his words, the consonants, and sent them rippling throughout the dead and old-smelling air.</p><p>Eyes wide, an inferno raged under the skin of her cheeks. She peered down at the black cowl neck dress ruching tightly around her body. When she peered back up, his eyes still roamed along the lines and curves of her body, memorizing her. Taina squirmed under his attention. She fiddled with one of the golden chain straps criss-crossing over her bare back—it draped over her shoulder, each chain link stabbing glacial pain into her skin. </p><p>“You look pretty handsome yourself.”</p><p>Gustave stepped forward, deserting his spot by the door but, she couldn’t help notice, still cleverly in her way of it. </p><p>There would be no change of mind. ‘<em>Fine then.</em>’</p><p>Taina cleared the alcohol-laced phlegm out of her throat with a cough. “Sorry—”</p><p>“I’m sorry—”</p><p>Taina waved her hand in the air—a gesture allowing, pleading, for him to speak first. She wasn’t ready yet. The wrong mental space, too passive. ‘<em>This is a disaster</em>,’ she reminded herself. ‘<em>React accordingly.</em>’ She knew the task that lay ahead, and the alien jitters deep within told her she wasn’t ready to blow everything to pieces just yet. </p><p>“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said—” Gustave cut himself off, frowning, like he feared repeating those words. A fear she shared in. A fear that consumed her. “What I said. I should have known you wouldn’t be ready for that… yet. Or…”</p><p>Ever.</p><p>She knew he meant ever. She knew ever was the truth. <em>Maybe I could be someday,</em> a feeble part of her consciousness argued—futile. Caveira didn’t change. Neither did Taina Pereira; they both merely <em>were</em>. Her nail wedged up and under the scab on her finger, in one wrenching movement tearing the scab away. “Do you know what people would say if they found out about us?” she asked.</p><p>“Hm…” Gustave flicked at the button securing his deep blue suit jacket closed, the first button of the two. Next he lugged out one of the wooden chairs nestled at the end of a nearby table, and its legs whispered against the carpet, dragging. With room now available, he took a seat. “Cute couple,” he said, showing off a blatantly fraudulent smile, like he knew where she was going but still desired to try fighting it. </p><p>Taina’s face scrunched into a grimace. “<em>Couple— </em>No! They would ask what’s the matter with you.”</p><p>“I’m certain they wouldn’t. Since when do you care what other people think anyways?” Gustave asked with a chuckle, the fragments of a smirk lining his lips, yet he tilted his head to the side—curious for a response. With the motion, tainted light emphasized contrasting strands in his hair: darkening the faded blacks, illuminating the greys and whites like a shimmer. Little tufts of hair fell over his forehead. They beckoned her.</p><p>“I don’t! I care about—” Taina cut herself off, eyes drifting shut for a moment.</p><p>‘<em>God damn it.</em> <em>It shouldn’t be this hard,</em>’ she thought. It never used to be this hard. Being cold. Detached. That’s who she was. Or if it wasn’t, it was the role she had so very long ago adopted and claimed mastery over. ‘<em>What are you doing to me?’ </em>she recalled asking him a forever ago. Back before… just before<em>.</em> Before she had ever experienced him. Before she lost control. Taina stabbed the edge of her nail into the reopened wound and watched herself begin to bleed.</p><p>“It doesn’t make sense to me either,” she mumbled. The wounded honesty in her voice made her queasy. </p><p>“What doesn’t?” Gustave asked, standing right back up again. He inched forward, breaching her bubble, the zone of safety. Getting dangerously close. He even reached out his hand as if to touch her. Grasping at air. Caressing a phantom. He reconsidered and dropped his hand down to his side. “What do you mean?”</p><p>Taina recoiled away from him in case he dare make the same mistake again. In case she made the fatal mistake of surrendering to him. “I mean, this is insanity.”</p><p>A chill bolted through her body at the words—adrenaline possessing her. She clung to the drive, her mind blanking, her muscles yearning to go. </p><p>“What is?”</p><p>“<em>This</em>.” She flicked a hand, indicating the space between them. "I represent everything you oppose, and I go against everything you stand for.”</p><p>Gustave shook his head, but he offered no other counterpoint. So Taina went off; self-destruct sequence—activated. </p><p>“You’re supposed to hate me! Mr. Humanitarian. That’s how you’re always described, right? An empath. Altruistic. Me, I get brutal. You should fear me.” Too anxious to merely stand, she had to move. Taina took creeping steps in no particular direction. Stalking around the patch of gaudy red and blue carpet where Gustave stood looking paralyzed. Like a carrion bird circling a wounded animal, inevitable prey. She removed the purse from around her wrist and tossed it onto a random table. Hands free, she counted on her fingers while she spoke. “Psychotic. Liar. Selfish.”</p><p>This was the her she knew, the version of herself she had lost. Mean, and it was the most like herself she had felt in weeks.</p><p>She hated it.</p><p>“Might as well add whore to the list.”</p><p>“<em>Stop it, Taina,” </em>Gustave snapped, finally breaking; she had broken him. “You are none of those.”</p><p>Gustave took a brash step forward, and she dodged away from him, backing right up. “Murderer. Can’t forget that one,” she said. Her sharp, hostile voice reverberated in the antique room. “That’s me. It’s my job. That’s who I am.”</p><p>‘<em>I see you</em>.’ Or so Gustave claimed, but she wondered if he had somehow failed to see those primary aspects of her.</p><p>
  <em>Can you see me now?</em>
</p><p>“We’re all—” Gustave’s eyes fluttered shut, and he heaved a sigh. “We take lives. That’s what we do. It’s what we <em>have</em> to do.”</p><p>Her body tensed, sending the cold chain straps shifting further down her back. He didn’t even struggle with the words, with the admission of their shared deeds—something that surprised her—but his deeds were nowhere near the same as her atrocities. Taina confronted him, shoving a cautionary index finger in his face. “Don’t start comparing resumes with me, Doc. You won’t like what you see.”</p><p>Taina levelled him with a severe glare, but instead of seeing apprehension or fear in him, his eyes merely deviated.</p><p>Gustave clutched her wrist to examine the small smear of blood on her fingertip. Her wrist wriggled in his grip, and she made a facile escape from his hold, as he simply let her go. “I’m not comparing anything. I just don’t understand what’s happening right now,” he said, watching her wipe the blood off on her midnight black satiny dress, invisible. “Nor do I believe that any of this is your actual issue.”</p><p>“<em>Issue?</em>”</p><p>A dire attempt at outrage lost itself in hysteria.</p><p>“Yes, issue. Yours is that you’re emotionally unavailable and that I told you that I care about you, and you don’t know how to handle that, so instead you’re self-sabotaging to try and get rid of the problem.”</p><p>They stared wide-eyed at each other. </p><p>Taina’s world seemed to tilt. Taking with it—any sense of control she had over the narrative. She wasn’t supposed to be this transparent. This obvious. <em>This weak. </em>Her tongue grazed against the shallow ditch on the inside of her lip. Still aching. Still unleashing a metallic taste long after the bleeding had ceased. She remained motionless, emotionless, while any sound thought sank into the mud.</p><p>Gustave’s jaw still hung open. Mortified at his own declaration, Taina assumed. She had seen him mad before—mad specifically at her even—but she had never seen him lose it quite like that. Taking truthful jabs was one thing, but to take brutally honest stabs with blunt knives… ‘<em>I must really be getting to him</em>.’ Whether that would help or hinder her case? Impossible to know. Taina watched his posture sag, and he settled his attention on something. Maybe the carpet. Maybe his shiny dress shoes. Either way, it wasn’t her as her world tore asunder, soul and senses riven. And for that she was thankful. </p><p>“My apologies,” he said, voice rocky and low. “That was far too frank.”</p><p>“No, frank is better. Let’s be frank.” Taina stepped up to him, getting right in his face. Chests almost touching. The rush had concealed any pain of her heels until she moved; her ankles wavered, like they were waiting to snap and give out from under her. “So why? I just need to know why.”</p><p>“Why what?”</p><p>“Why me?”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“<em>Why?</em>”</p><p>“Why what?” Gustave asked, voice hitching in volume and tone, sharpening to an edge. “I don’t understand.”</p><p>“Why are you nice to me? Why are you always trying to help me? Why do you keep sleeping with me? Why are you wasting your time on me?” The proximity, it killed her. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from him in the chilly room. To feel his exhales cascade over her face, and she swore he could almost taste him. The scarlet silk tie dangled from his neck, and all Taina wanted to do was wrap it around her hand and pull him against her. She forced her stare to transition from his mouth to his eyes. “What do you want from me?”</p><p>“Nothing.” The frown tainting Gustave’s face drew out fine, typically unnoticeable age lines that framed the outer corners of his eyes. “I just want to make you happy.”</p><p>“Why?” Taina croaked out, her voice box and her throat thickening at the looming onset of tears. Happiness was the last thing she deserved. Especially from him. “Why do you even care about me?”</p><p>Gustave’s declaration withered into a whisper as he grazed the backs of his fingers along her jaw. “Because you make me happy.”</p><p>Taina shook her head and backed away. <em>Run</em>—the solitary thought blitzing through her mind, but it was far too late for that. All of it, too real and slowly becoming utterly inescapable. “No.”</p><p>“Yes, Taina. You do,” Gustave said. “It’s like…” He began gesturing with his hands, wild and manic. Non-verbal non-sense, a symptom. “It’s like I live life differently now. I do things I never would before.”</p><p>“I make you reckless?”</p><p>Taina could relate to that. <em>You make me reckless,</em> she thought. A fallacy. In truth, she was born reckless. She’d likely die that way too. He didn’t make her reckless—he took her down a different path of risk-taking, something new, something much, much harder for her to conceptualize.</p><p>“No. No, not reckless. More— how do I explain?” he asked himself out loud. His hand scrubbed through his hair, sending the white strands around his temples protruding. Gustave inched his body closer to her’s once more. Within an arm’s reach. “It’s like the difference between being alive and really living. I feel real when I’m with you. I know you’re not the villain you paint yourself as. Even if that’s how you want to be seen, I can’t. I know it’s not the truth. You’ve shown me that’s not who you are. I don’t know why you chose me to be the only person you’ve shown that to, but I can’t unlearn it. I see you. I trust you. I <em>know</em> you, and I know you’re worth caring for.”</p><p><em>When had he gotten so close?</em> she wondered. The realization sparked a marrow-deep ache to move. Every reasonable thought of hers corrupted into nothingness. His words, each and every one of them, had rubbed her raw and robbed her of any verbal way to respond, ripping the air she breathed apart.</p><p>Exhausted.</p><p>Shattering.</p><p>Her hand snapped out, bracing the back of his head, and she pounced. Bodies crashing. Mouths colliding. Resistance dying.</p><p>Taina kissed him—hard and fervid, satiating her withdrawal from his taste. The sound, lips parting and meeting again, blared in the old room, ripe with open space and obstacles to reflect from. Gustave stumbled back with her until her hips and thighs bashed against the ornate back of a wooden chair. She felt his hand gripping onto her hip, felt the warmth leaking through the thin fabric of her dress, and her body quivered under his touch. While his other hand knotted in her hair, she slipped her arm beneath his suit jacket, hooking around Gustave’s back to keep him as close as she physically could. The lush silk lining lapped against her skin. Bodies, pressed together. Breaths, muddled. Every sense overloaded with him. Taina’s delicate whimper wafted and decayed through the room. </p><p>
  <em>Thud.</em>
</p><p>She shoved at Gustave’s shoulder to murder the moment and break away. His lips, bright red and smeared with lipstick. Her finger scrubbed along the edges of her lips in an attempt to clean up the mess she knew she had made. She searched around for the source of the commotion.</p><p>Her disembowelled purse sat in a pile on the ground. </p><p>“Shit,” she muttered. Taina crouched down to pick it up, shoving the two loose wallets and a bunch of bills back into place inside. Standing, she swerved around Gustave and darted towards the door in a desperate endeavour to escape. Abandoning whatever they had built together wasn’t supposed to culminate in them holding each other, in them kissing. In her falling even deeper into the abyss.</p><p>“Taina, wait!”</p><p>“No!” Taina stopped and spun around. “I tried to warn you. I <em>told</em> you. Getting involved with me was a mistake.”</p><p>“You told me I’d regret it. I don’t.” Gustave’s hands fiddled with his tie, trying to straighten the way it dangled from his neck. “You never told me you’d quit.”</p><p>“<em>Quit!</em>” Taina scoffed at him, insult spurring rage spurring a poisonous urge to bring a confrontation. “I don’t quit.”</p><p>“Then I don’t understand,” Gustave said. His voice flatlined when he asked, “Answer me honestly. Is it that you don't want this?”</p><p>Panic set in around the fringes and the outskirts of her mind, and it diffused into her subconscious. Her heart rate accelerated, and she swore her vision began tunnelling. “Want what?” she asked, intentionally sounding like a dolt with no brain. Anything to avoid a legitimate answer.</p><p>“Us,” Gustave said. “Me.”</p><p>Her lower lip trembled. For no reason, she could taste the rum again, or maybe she just remembered it, a figment of her imagination deceiving the taste buds on her tongue. ‘<em>Just say </em>yes.<em> Say yes and get it over with.</em>’ A way out. One word, one little lie, to turn off the light and pull the plug on the disaster she had wrought. Taina couldn’t even see him with her eyes blurred, drowning in tears. Sure, his heart would shatter into a million pieces—a pointless, avoidable casualty, but hers would stay in tact. ‘<em>Angels always fall first anyways.</em>’</p><p><em>‘Just say yes.</em>’</p><p>“It’s not that,” she whispered. “You know it’s not.”</p><p>“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking,” Gustave replied. “If you need space or time, I’ll give it to you. Happily. But I’m begging you, please don’t just push me away out of fear.”</p><p>
  <em>Fear.</em>
</p><p>So close to the door, noises infiltrated the room from the main hall. Low hums of chattering. Flirty strings, both legato and pizzicato, danced with woodwinds—she swore she heard the vivacious tune of Bizet’s “Habeñera.” All of it called her name. “I do,” she said, voice trembling with those two words.</p><p>Taina raised a hand to her face. Red lipstick stained her ring finger, smeared into one curved streak. She used her middle finger instead to run along the edge of her bottom eyelid. Half trying to dissolve the resurgence of tears. Half trying to clean up whatever makeup may have run. Her finger came away clean. For now. She reached for the door handle next. While she exited the room, and even after that—once in the hallway and lost in the horde of people—even then Gustave’s parting word stuck with her, on her mind permanently like a tattoo: “I’ll wait.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello! Just wanted to take a moment and say the usual but ever-important thank you for reading. If you have kudos-ed, double thank you, and if you have commented, triple thank you! There may be a few more days in between the next upcoming couple of chapters. I’ll still be posting at least once a week. I just want to take some more time to write/ brainstorm some other things, potentially other Cav/Doc stuff to post here (thoughts?). Anyways, thank you all again, and stay safe everybody!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Unleashed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Keeping one’s distance proved to be less complicated than Taina initially thought. If there was anything to bank on, it was for time to always continue passing. Almost an entire week of it had. The key, she discovered, was to simply avoid everyone at all times. There were drawbacks of course—a constant and inexplicable lack of sleep, the endless grief, fits of fiery rage, etcetera. Every day, facing a new hell she made for herself. No one could say the strategy didn’t work though. Taina threw the strap of her gym bag over her shoulder and exited the gymnasium, which had been surprisingly packed with operators. Only once she entered the hallway did she yank the headphones out of her ears. Taina took a swig from her water bottle. A powdery taste mingled with the artificial tropical fruit punch scent. </p><p>Thirst quenched, she switched the bottle to her non-dominant hand and rummaged through the open bag for another item—her phone. Picking it up, a comfortingly blank screen greeted her. She tapped her thumb along the screen a few times before raising it up to her ear. </p><p>“Taina, it’s your brother. Please, don’t ignore me again! I’m sorry about everything. Call me back, please. You left before we could talk. I couldn’t even thank you. I couldn’t even apologize. I’m sorry for getting you in trouble. I’m sorry you had to save me again. <em>I’m sorry</em>, T. Please, call me back.”</p><p>Taina smashed her thumb against the icon to terminate the message playback. It was a plea ignored without end since she still hadn’t returned his call, and fortunately he had given up on texts and calls. Given up on her. Her own brother. ‘<em>You gave up on him first</em>,’ she reminded herself. Taina sighed and dropped her cell into the gym bag. ‘<em>Add it to the list, I guess.’</em></p><p>She was starting to realize she may be more of a quitter than she thought.</p><p>Down the hallway, a figure rounded the corner. Blue jeans and a t-shirt clinging to his form, Harry paused his stroll to who knew where in order to remove his glasses and hold them up towards a dome light suspended on the ceiling. Next he hunched over. Hand tucked under the hem of his shirt, he tried using the fabric to clean off the lens of his glasses. Taina upped her pace to catch him before he walked away. </p><p>“Harry—” Taina called out. “Or… Six!”</p><p>Harry returned the glasses to his face, and even down the hallway, she could see him smiling. “Harry, please. I think that’s better for everyone,” he said once she stepped closer, a chuckle lacing through his words.</p><p>“Harry,” she corrected. The man smiled again, but he quickly resume strolling through the hallway leaving only the potent smell of his woodsy cologne behind to keep her company. Taina hitched up the strap over her shoulder, eyes rolling, and rushed forward in order to keep pace with him. “Since you are Six now though, I was wondering, are you still going to be the main psychologist?”</p><p>“I may need to bring in another advisor to assist, but I want to maintain the relationships and trust that I’ve built with the operators if possible.” </p><p>“Good.” Taina drank from her water bottle again. Quick swallows, to limit the time for the powderyelectrolyte drink to settle over her taste buds, but enough to appease her parched, desert-dry tongue. “Can I ask you something then?”</p><p>“Is it regarding the completion of your evaluation?”</p><p>“Technically, no.”</p><p>Harry removed the sleek notebook from under his arm while he walked, flipping it open to skim through his own handwritten notes. Mostly operator code names arranged in clusters. Some crossed out, some underlined. A few with large swooping arrows pointing to another cluster.</p><p>“By all means then, ask away,” he said, but then he pivoted, turning left down one of the main hallways of the building.</p><p>Taina hesitated. The thick and cold air filled her lungs until she swore they’d burst forth through each and every one of her ribs. She didn’t think this chat would be a brief one. Her vacant stare drifted down the hallway, knowing that somewhere down there on the left would be the door to medical bay. Multiple feet already separated Taina from Harry. She sprinted until she was at his side once more and able to catch her breath.</p><p>“What’s wrong with me?”</p><p>The question seemed to seize all of Harry’s muscles. He came to an abrupt stop and pivoted to her. “I beg your pardon?”</p><p>“Something is,” she said. “We all know it. <em>What’s</em> wrong with me though?”</p><p>Harry smiled despite the awkward predicament she had put him in. He crossed his arms and sighed. The scent of coffee drifted along his exhale, and the smallest brown stain speckled his green sports shirt. “There’s nothing <em>wrong—</em>”</p><p>“No, I don’t care. I know those aren’t the words you’re supposed to use. Screw the terminology. I’m not asking you as a psychologist. I’m asking you as…” Taina trailed off hoping Harry would fill in the blanks for himself, either externally or internally. But instead, he just stared with empty eyes, waiting for her to finish. With the weight of her gym bag and the poor quality of the shoulder pad, the strap dug deep into her muscles. She let her shoulder sag until the bag slipped down to her forearm and then off her body and onto the floor. “As someone I trust. That’s what you wanted, right?”</p><p>“Do you trust me?” Harry asked, engaging further.</p><p>The concern had evaporated from his face. What exactly replaced it, she wasn’t sure. Intrigue? Satisfaction, maybe. Excitement at a new angle with which to approach the charity case most others would have deemed her as.</p><p>“I trust your judgement.” She glanced down the hallway, down the way they had come only to find it barren. Down the other direction, a vacancy as well, but she opted to stay vigilant of that direction. Medical bay wasn’t too far away. Harry remained silent still, so she modified her response. “I trust you.”</p><p>“I’m glad,” Harry said. “We can discuss that in a moment, but first I want to know what <em>you</em> think your struggle is.”</p><p><em>Ugh.</em> Harry knew she hated self-reflection. Which, she realized, was probably the reason he utilized it against her every single time. <em>What do you think your struggle is?</em> The only benefit to being trapped in the constant hellhole that was the vortex of her mind, she had garnered at least an iota of a source. “I’m changing,” Taina said, loathing how pre-pubescent the answer sounded.</p><p>“Changing? How so?”</p><p>Taina shook the water bottle in her hand and listened to the silver whisk ball rattle inside. Stress-relief, a distraction. <em>Thunk, thunk, thunk.</em> Eyes, surveying the hallways around her one final time, cursing her own timing and choice of location. Taina paused to try and formulate some way to circumnavigate the truth of it all, the heart of everything.</p><p>
  <em>I’m falling apart.</em>
</p><p>“You know how you said going to save my brother was…”</p><p>“An emotional response,” Harry said, declaring the awful words for her.</p><p>“<em>Right</em>. That. But… more? I keep—” Taina struggled for the right word. “Feeling. And I don’t know why or how to stop it.”</p><p>“In the realm of psychology, we refer to that as emotional intelligence. One’s emotional quotient is a key factor to success, especially in the workplace.” Harry bent over to pick up the gym bag she had abandoned on the scuffed linoleum floor. Standing, he draped the strap over her shoulder once more. “I’ve noticed you keep responding to the term <em>change</em> like it’s a bad thing. Why is that?”</p><p>Taina scrubbed the side bangs out of her face. In doing so, the small scab on her forefinger scratched at the thin skin over her forehead, a reminder. “It’s fair to say that I have a specific role here and not everyone could do this job, right?”</p><p>No response required—the truth was blatant. Not everyone could terrify the truth out of someone or bleed it out of them if they refused to talk. Stare in the face of guerrilla warfare and try to choke it out. Most people wouldn’t be able to take that. Physically. Mentally. Psychologically.</p><p>“That is fair to say, yes.”</p><p>“Right, so what if I change and suddenly I can’t do my job either? Then what?”</p><p>Harry half-groaned before he shook his head, eyes narrowing in the hunt for something to assuage her concern. “I don’t think that—”</p><p>“I refuse to compromise my job—my entire life—for, what? Measly personality growth?”</p><p>“I don’t believe they are measly, Taina. Nor do I believe accepting them will in any way compromise your ability to work. I have a greater fear of the opposite, if anything.” Harry held out an arm behind her—an attempt to urge her to continue striding forward with him. Her eyes focused down the hall, trying to find any open doors while never budging. Harry’s hand then pressed against her back, a passive force, but she obliged. He adjusted the slanted tawny frame of his glasses and then, voice growing softer said, “The job you do is extreme and specific, but make no mistake, you do it for a reason. It is not done in a vacuum; you do it for a cause, for the good of something.”</p><p>That was her—taking on the most evil role for the greater good. Because it <em>was</em> a role… wasn’t it?</p><p>Taina’s suddenly sweaty hands clenched into fists, and she nodded.</p><p>Harry said, “I worry you growing too callous poses a much greater threat to that cause than recognizing that you as a human being experience human emotions ever could.”</p><p>He chuckled at the absurdity of his own words, of her own reality. Taina watched him raise his hand and check the titanium watch clinging to his wrist. Distracted. An opening. Taina clutched the opportunity lean forward and spy further down the hallway—at medical bay, with its wide open door. Taina crossed her arms over her chest and tried to plant herself, like a tree with roots of iron embedded into the ground, vowing to not take a single other step forward. </p><p>“Maybe this is something we should discuss further,” Harry said. “Tuesday? 0900 hours?”</p><p>“What’s Tuesday?”</p><p>“Tuesday we will finish up your psychological evaluation and address your probation status.”</p><p>Taina let loose a hopeful smile. <em>Finally.</em> Probation had dragged on for way too long. But the excitement swirling through her quickly evaporated—she didn’t even know if she’d pass. “How much is what I just told you going to influence your decision?”</p><p>“Ms. Pereira, if I may,” Harry said in that voice which told her nothing worth being proud of would follow. He even raisied a ceasing hand. “I think you’re making a bigger deal of all this than it ought to be. Your probation isn’t some punishment for your psychological response to what happened. The probation period is a consequence for the action you took. It’s a formality. Your fixation on needing to clear probation and pass your evaluation has me concerned. I don’t worry about the fact that something you’ve experienced has impacted you. What worries me is the fact that it worries <em>you</em> because it leads me to believe you’ve in no way actually processed what’s happened.”</p><p>
  <em>Libertad.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Probation.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Santa Blanca.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>João. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Taina, I—’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stop.</em>
</p><p>The dozens of tiny, unnamable muscles in her face spasmed and convulsed. Aching. She felt every single one desperately trying to uphold the unaffected expression her visage bore. Voice low and hoarse, quivering more and more with each word, she insisted, “There’s nothing to <em>process</em>.”</p><p>Harry shook his head at her. “A relative of yours was kidnapped by a cartel on the verge of taking over most of Bolivia. Not only that, they knew he was a cop undercover with them. I read about Santa Blanca—El Sueño is a sick man. They’ve recruited every civilian that didn’t want a bullet in the brain, and you took it upon yourself to save him on your own with no aid or assistance of anyone. That’s very much something to process.” Harry fidgeted with the red ball point pen securely tucked into the silver coil spine of his notebook. “Let me ask you this: how does the prospect of working with Valkyrie make you feel now? How do the conversations with your brother go now? Because I have a feeling things aren’t as they were before.”</p><p>Nothing was.</p><p>Taina had to look away from Harry’s intense, though well-intended, scrutiny. She stared at the open door to medical bay, half expecting someone to have heard the heated conversation filling the void of the hallway. ‘<em>Please don’t be in there</em>,’ the reasonable part of her mind thought, at war with the hopeless part of her mind screaming, ‘<em>Please come save me.</em>’Using the nails of her right thumb and middle finger, Taina ripped off the scab on her left index finger—the most efficient method she had learned over many days of picking at the same wad of hardened skin cells. She wondered if she’d have a permanent scar at this rate; the cut was deep, still mending under layers of flesh, and she couldn’t leave it alone. The skin had started to discolour, darken. </p><p>A warm touch freed her from the grey, lightless oblivion that had dragged her under.</p><p>Taina peered up from the open cut starting to ooze blood. Harry had moved closer to her. His hand, resting on her shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze, and he provided her a partial smile. “I’m not trying to go on the attack with you, but I know you appreciate candidness.”</p><p>Taina’s head bobbled for a feeble nod.</p><p>“I think the best way to have this stop afflicting you is to address it. All of it. What happened. What could have happened. What didn’t happen. Not just recognizing that it has an emotional impact—actually being fully cognizant of those emotions instead of being fearful of them. Accept them. Don't shut them out,” he said, even wagging a cautionary finger at her. “They only come back with a vengeance.” </p><p>Taina kept hold of her silence. Acknowledging his statement, agreeing with it either verbally or non-verbally, was just another promise she figured she’d end up breaking. </p><p>Harry released her shoulder. The two bracelets, one a reddish leather strip and the other beaded, black, and porous, fell to the bones of his wrist. Another supportive smile ruptured across his face, and he said, “I want you to pass your evaluation, and I have faith in you that you will.”</p><p>“Thanks, Harry.”</p><p>Harry nodded, and his smile sprouted even more. He shut his notebook and secured it back under his arm before he continued his trip down the hall. Taina watched him leave. Past one of the supply rooms. Past a door to a room with an unknown purpose. Past the medical bay. Door open, lights on. Persuading her.</p><p>Taina crept with purposeful and silent steps—her natural habitat—like she were infiltrating a room lined with C4 and tripwire and not a public hallway, until she reached the doorframe of medical bay. She lingered. Back against the wall. Never near entering yet arguably still dangerously too close. Heart pounding in her head, she could only just make out other sounds outside her ballooning hysteria—the tip of a writing utensil dancing over paper; chair squeaks; rolling wheels; a hushed mumble; Gustave’s dragged-out and forlorn sigh. </p><p>One step—with only one step left everything in her rebelled.</p><p>The muscles in her legs, on fire and searing from the time on the bike at the gym, suddenly unable to make even another movement. She shook her head. ‘<em>The timing isn’t right</em>,’ she reasoned despite never in her life synchronizing with the world around her or subscribing to fatalism. Taina scampered away, heading back to the dormitory building, defeated. As she went, her hand rummaged through the gym bag, bumping against random fabrics and plastics until she found her target. Her cellphone. </p><p>Taina strode headlong through the building, paying no attention to whom she collided with while she wove through the kitchen crowded from the lunch rush. She burst into her bedroom and hit a brick wall of glacial air. The blinds of the bedroom window accidentally left open rattled against the frame and wafted at a strong breeze that caused the door to crash shut on its own accord. Taina sighed. She hurtled her gym bag onto the bed then crashed down onto the edge too, body bouncing on the mattress, sheets crumpling around her form. She had done a trash job of making the bed anyways—it was one of her things now. Becoming a slob. She tapped at her phone, inputting a memorized sequence like the rhythm of some secret song. To finish it all off, her thumb tapped the speaker icon. “Taina, it’s your brother,” João’s voice blared through the hollow air of her bedroom. Déjà vu. Trapped inside a repeating fragment of time within her memory. Except this time she could see straight and an overdose of rum wasn’t corroding her stomach or triggering her gag reflexes. Whether or not she was less miserable was still up for debate. The outer corners of her eyes burned—singed by the salty, astringent memory.</p><p>Was a broken heart any better than a lonely one?</p><p>“Please, don’t ignore me again! I’m sorry about everything. Call me back, please. You left before we could talk. I couldn’t even thank you. I couldn’t even apologize. I’m sorry for getting you in trouble. I’m sorry you had to save me again. <em>I’m sorry</em>, T. Please, call me back.”</p><p>She tapped the button to go back to her call log and stared at how long ago the message had been received. <em>Weeks.</em> And she hadn’t said a god damn thing to him since. She just left him and his wounds for Policia Federal to take care of. </p><p>Taina clicked on João’s number.</p><p>Never even thinking. Not about what she was supposed to say. Not about how she was supposed to hold herself together. She didn’t even consider doing the math on what time it may be in Brazil. That age-old thoughtlessness. </p><p>“<em>Âlo?</em>” João answered, sounding both flustered and groggy, like he was leagues away from the phone. <em>Morning—it must be morning</em>, she figured.</p><p>Her lips parted to speak, but she couldn’t. The adrenaline crashing through her veins robbed her of a voice.</p><p>“<em>Âlo?</em>” he repeated with a jagged harshness in his voice—irritation. She heard him swear followed by a series of pattering and whistling that would have deafened her had she not been on speaker phone. His Portuguese immediately became flustered. “Taina? Taina! Is that you?”</p><p>Taina collapsed in on herself: hunched over her knees, one hand holding out her phone, the other smothering her face. “It’s me.”</p><p>“I’m so happy you called!” he said, but she didn’t need him to tell her that. Her own ears deciphered that fact easily. The telltale squeakiness in his voice. That, and the words always flew out of his mouth at a million miles an hour. Just like when he got his first and either stolen or fraudulent Pele jersey at the age of seven, complete with a signature her brothers made her forge—something she could never bear admitting to. Just like when he got admitted into police training. Real, almost palpable joy. </p><p>“I’m sorry it took so long.”</p><p>“It’s nice to hear your voice again, sis.”</p><p>Taina compressed a hand over her gaping mouth to shut herself up, resisting the urge to bite down on the flesh of her palm—she had no faith in her composure otherwise.</p><p>“Thank you, Taina,” João said.</p><p>Taina withdrew her hand to ask, “For what?”</p><p>“For saving me.”</p><p>“Did you think I wouldn’t?”</p><p>A stagnant and sickening noiselessness droned from the other side of the phone. Answer enough. Taina felt something crack deep inside the recesses of her very being, that place she hated naming and acknowledging.</p><p>But the cracks only escalated and then ruptured at João’s verbal response. “I worried.”</p><p>Taina slapped her hand over her mouth once more, nodding, and she imagined smothering the life out of her sob, murder. The beginnings of tearsstabbed at her eyes and pushed through her lashes when she wrenched her eyelids shut. “You’re my blood,” she whispered, pretending she couldn’t hear her own voice wavering. Just like she rehearsed weeks ago. The words bubbled vomit up to the back of her throat.</p><p>But João just let a little laugh ring free. “Yeah, but you’re supposed to be my sister, not your brother’s keeper. So thank you.”</p><p>Taina tried smiling, but all she could do was shake her head. Voice decimated down to a murmur, she gave her confession. “I was so worried about you.”</p><p>She despised imagining it—never being able to hear his voice again. It easily could have happened too. The odds told her it probably should have; Taina wasn’t certain either of them should still be alive. The feelings, permanently implanted into her memories, her bodily recollections. The feeling of every micron of control being stripped right out of her hands. </p><p>The sickening rush. </p><p>The never-ending free-fall.</p><p>She could have murdered everyone who crossed her path. Or she could have left sicarios breathing, living to tell frightful tales of the devil dressed in blood or the day that death paid a visit, but at the end of it all, the choices she had made—every action carried out—guaranteed nothing, irrelevant. João could have just as easily been a disembowelled and decaying corpse on the floor when the Ghosts kicked down that door at the chemical institute. ‘<em>But that’s not what happened</em>,’ she thought to both pacify her ascending delirium and terminate the twisted visions swarming her mind.</p><p>Blank eyes stared—the numbers of her alarm clock, 1354, blurring into a fuzzy green speck. “You’re okay?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he said. “Are you?”</p><p>“Don’t worry about me.”</p><p>“I know you’re the big sister, but can’t you let me worry about you once?”</p><p>“No.” Another tsunami of icy air spewed through the window, blinds thrashing around as a result. That gust transformed the sweaty film lining the back of her neck and the small of her back into a scorching chill. She swiped at her forehead. Some damp sensation then became overriden by a faint, annoying scratchiness over her forehead. Taina withdrew her hand. Light bounced back off the sweat and natural oils gathering on her fingertips. In the centre of all the sweat and oil and enflamed, irritated red skin, a tiny, barely-formed fresh scab on her left index finger. She scrubbed her thumb over the mark. “I’ll be fine.”</p><p>“Policia Federal got in contact with Bowman,” João said, a certain tune of distaste lining his voice when he uttered Bowman’s name. Taina shared in that distaste. “I heard Rainbow had a price to pay for what happened too. They can’t have been happy that you went AWOL for me either. I’m so sorry, Taina. It’s my fault you’re in trouble.”</p><p>Without missing a beat she declared, “I’d do it all over again.”</p><p>“Let’s hope you never have to. For both of our sakes,” João said. Another voice bobbed in and out, frequencies not consistent enough to make out any words or pitch. Then João said, “I actually have to go, but thank you for calling me back, Taina. Thank you for everything. I mean it. Love you, sis.”</p><p>“I—yeah. You too,” she stuttered, unable to speak her thoughts. She couldn’t say it. That was too far, too vulnerable. There was only so much of that she could take in a day, and it was only one o’clock in the afternoon. Lord knew João wasn’t the only person she needed to finally confront. Her phone beeped twice. Call disconnected. Taina dropped the device at her side and reclined, upper body sprawling across the chilled comforter, eyes gaping at the ceiling which had lately become a constant casualty of her examination. Her skin felt scratched away, every part of her raw. Yet lighter—like on the verge of breaking free from a lead-filled life preserver dragging her further into the deep blue sea. Failing to save her the way it should have. Defunct. And now she only need let it go.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! Sorry there is (virtually) no Doc in this chapter, especially after last chapter, but some things just have to happen. He will be in the next one! Hopefully you still enjoyed this though. Thanks again and have a great day!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Reflection</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! As we reach what is essentially the halfway mark in this story (Wtf? How?), it needs to be said again—thank you all for reading, commenting, for leaving kudos, for sticking around through this many chapters. Only a few more before we ramp up towards the end, which is wild to me, but I hope you'll all enjoy it. Also, sorry in advance for stopping this one in such a terrible spot, but word count wise I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Anyways, thank you, enjoy, and have a great day/night!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taina withdrew the combat knife from its sheath and checked her reflection in the blade. Naturally she had grown accustomed to it—the frightening sight of the skull face staring back felt natural—but her bloodshot eyes elevated the look to something much worse. From caveira to diabo. The artificial bomb in the kill house kitchen droned, beeping slow but constant. The room smelled permanently of smoke and dust from hundreds of simulated frag grenades and stuns. Returning the knife to its place, Taina kicked at the stack of sandbags. A sturdiness test. The pile never budged, so she hopped on top and fiddled with her SPAS-15—a dangerous game, but if anyone had the gall to play, it was her. She glanced to her right and saw the black and white streaks of her own face paint and nothing else bouncing back from the dark aviator sunglasses exposed within the new guy's helmet. <em>Mozzie</em>, she had to constantly remind herself. She figured she should start getting used to it, along with the rest of her new trial team: Castle, Mira, and Lesion. </p><p>The Program, Harry had dubbed it. One of his many conceptions. One of many she hardly followed. Teams. Decentralization. Tournaments. The particulars held little to no significance to her. Not out of disrespect for Harry—if anything, she felt safer about belonging in Rainbow with Harry in charge. Though after their conversation, she realized that she’d probably have to make a change for the better in order to clear probation, and she wasn’t going to hold her breath on that one. For now, all that mattered was that the Australian, Castle, Mira, and Pulse were her teammates.</p><p>
  <em>‘But, my God, Mozzie.’</em>
</p><p>“Holy shit,” Taina wheezed. </p><p>The short man, who marched in circles around her, the sandbags she sat upon, and the kitchen island like a curious puppy, ground to a halt. Mozzie said something in response to her that somehow sounded not even remotely like English at all. He had been telling a twelve minute story about his dirt bike and as cool as exhibitionist stunt driving was to see, having it described took 90% of the thrill out of it. His codename suddenly made <em>too</em> much sense. It had been two days—Taina didn’t think she could take his incessant chattering. Her thousand yard stare centralized on the door leading to the garage corridor.</p><p>Harry explained that he was developing teams based on their synergies—their ability to get along, to work together and for each other. All very Harry Pandey.</p><p><em>‘But,</em> my God,<em> Mozzie.</em>’</p><p>“Do you ever shut up?” she asked, regretting nothing more than passing up the nap she almost took after talking to João earlier. </p><p>“Cav,” a very American voice drawled from behind her with an edge of condemnation. “That’s a little uncalled for.”</p><p>Taina twisted around to peer over her shoulder. Standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the main corridor, Castle with his arms crossed over his chest, and right behind him—Gustave, his helmet in hand and dangling down by his left thigh. Her eyebrows furrowed. The semi-dried paint between her eyebrows sparked up an awful itch. “What are you doing here?” she asked Gustave.</p><p>“Harry moved me,” he said.</p><p>Taina hopped off the tall mound of sandbags and landed gracefully on her feet, boots hardly taking a noise. “He moved you? Why?”</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>Taina scrutinized him, frown weighing down every facial expression, and Gustave stared right back, head cocking to the side half a degree.</p><p>“Well Harry did say he’d be making frequent adjustments as he saw fit,” Castle said with an easygoing smile. An aim at coaxing away the ramping tension. Next he nodded at Doc, reassurance, and the motion rocked the round black helmet strapped to his head. </p><p>“Right, since you are here though, Doc,” Mozzie said, voice bouncing and buzzing through a dozen different tones just like a gnat. “These stims. How much of a bite do they got to ‘em? ‘Cause I hate needles.”</p><p>Gustave’s attention deviated, and he nodded gently at Mozzie. “I promise they don’t hurt much, especially on the heels of a gunshot or stab wound.”</p><p>“<em>Ripper!</em>”</p><p>“Did he move you off your team or onto this team?” Taina blurted out of nowhere.</p><p>Gustave shot her a subtle look before he stepped deeper into the kitchen. Next he shrugged his shoulders, heavily weighed down with armour that clanked to his movements. “I didn’t ask that many questions.”</p><p>It had been so long since she had seen him. Not see, but being able to really look. To behold. Sure there had been some fleeting glances from opposite sides of the room, looks burdened by shame and heartache and longing. Now she could see everything though—the flecks of cloudy light in his eyes, the smallest twitch of his lips, the stubble over his cheeks—and she hated all of the soaring emotions the sight hit her with, but God had she missed every one of them.</p><p>Miles peered at Mozzie next, a horribly lopsided and awkward smile on his lips, and he straightened one of the bright red shotgun shells strapped in a line down the left side of his chest. “Anyone know where Mira is?”</p><p>Mozzie shook his head. “Negative.”</p><p>Castle nodded and answered his own question by saying, “Probably finishing in the lab knowing her. I’m going to go outside and ask around.”</p><p>The dampness of the floors made each step Miles took squelch. The stomach-churning noise retreated and then only the automated tempo of the bomb remained. Taina figured if anyone was going to have issues on a team and subsequently be moved, it was her and… well, her. And Gustave was Harry’s resident conflict resolver. Taina fidgeted with the folding stock of her shotgun. ‘<em>Not everything relates back to you</em>,’ she reminded herself. So she’d chalk it up to pure coincidence that there was a team change two and a half hours after she had her confessional with Harry. She found herself staring at everything: his navy shoulder pad, his white shoulder pad with its blue stripe, the flecks of red throughout his uniform—the little cross on one of his pouches, the strap securing another one, in the flag of France, the accents of his paddles. The cords from either end of the device, tightly coiled, hung at awkward angles and kinked in multiple spots. A corrosive-like burn, her mesmerized eyes drying out, forced her to blink.</p><p>“Can you go be annoying somewhere else for a bit, Vegemite man?” Taina rifled Mozzie a glare next, imagining the look searing right into his eyeballs hiding behind the sunglasses. A look driving home the point that the request was no request at all. It was a demand. </p><p>Mozzie fired a finger pistol back at her, adding the <em>pow</em> sound for maximum effect. “Righto, skull lady.” He spun on his heel, crunching dirt and powder against the floor, and sauntered his way into the garage corridor.</p><p>Taina rolled her eyes. Maybe he wasn’t the very worst<em>.</em> Her ears measured his footsteps, calculated the distance while trying to ignore the sound of Gustave’s steps approaching. She didn’t let her attention stray. She refused. Not until she knew for certain Mozzie had left—he may not have been the worst, but no way in hell did she trust him yet. </p><p>“For what it’s worth,” Gustave said, immediately stealing her focus, “I tried to convince Harry otherwise.”</p><p>One of her eyebrows jolted upwards. The movement pinched—dried paint tugging at the hairs in clumps, on the verge of being plucked out of her skin. “<em>What?</em>” Taina flicked the back of her right hand out and thwacked at him. The weak strike left Gustave relatively unfazed—a semi-confused and annoyed scowl—but while the rubber knuckle guard of her gloves hit the fabric pouch securing his radio, her nails clipped the plastic corner of it. The impact knifed sharp pains from her nail beds all the way down her fingers. “You don’t want to be on a team with me?” she asked while clenching her hand into a fist and trying to see straight through the inexplicably severe pain.</p><p>His scowl shifted into a much sadder frown. “<em>Non! </em>I didn’t think you’d want to be on a team with me.”</p><p>Taina crossed her arms over her chest, gaze drifting away. “That’s not true.”</p><p>The idea partially insulted her. As if she wouldn’t be able to handle the situation. She was Caveira; she could handle anything. But she would also be the first to admit that the line between personal and professional had long ago blurred into an indistinguishable smudge. '<em>I</em><em>f I could just conquer and control one, maybe the other would follow suit.</em>' She waived any optimism the thought fostered.</p><p>“My apologies,” Gustave said.</p><p>Silence wafted in the thick, mildewed, and expired air—dust and water damage. The bomb beeped at them like a living pest with a mechanical heartbeat. <em>Beep. Beep. Beep.</em> Taina wanted to bust it into a million pieces until it died just so she could think straight for a moment without being reminded of her own pulse. Rising. Hurting from self-inflicted devastation. <em>Thump. Thump. Thump.</em></p><p>She uncrossed her arms and let them fall to the side, abandoning any offensive stance. “How are you?”</p><p>“I’m alright.” Gustave flashed a half-smile, quicker than a bolt of lightning—easily identifiable as counterfeit. There had been too many of those lately, she had seen them all, and she wondered if they’d served much purpose before she ruptured the normalcy in his life. If perhaps she had ruined his jovial temperament. The universe seemed to deliver an answer when he said, “I’ve been better.”</p><p>Her eyes coaxed shut to seal in whatever water surged. Tear-stained face paint: not a hot look. At least, she assumed it wasn’t, and she didn’t want any confirmation. Mozzie’s voice carried from the other room, vocal tone once again sliding all over the place—either he had found another operator to make a victim out of or he had snapped like a small part of her figured he would eventually.</p><p>“How are you?”</p><p>Taina turned her attention back to Gustave. Even the question unleashed a hysteria, a cold ripple inside her gut. The self-reflection, the analysis—she hated it all. “I’m…” Taina’s eyes met with his. They looked exhausted; his eyes were darker than normal, robbed of any vigour just to match the beginnings of bags underneath them. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.</p><p>Gustave pursed his lips into another partial smile in absence of any verbal response. An uncommon occurrence for him. But what was there to say? Nothing, not when everything fell upon her. Her decision. Her desires. On her time. Ultimate control, and yet it could burn in hell—all of it, up in ashes, and she wasn’t certain she could bring herself to care. Not anymore. Not now. Taina inched closer to him. The shotgun hanging from its strap nudged against her thigh as she moved, like a child appealing for a parent’s attention. Her own instincts screamed to pick it up and run, to focus on her job and nothing else, but the other part of her knew that would be irresponsible in the long term.</p><p>“I know I’m not— I have…”</p><p>Her eyes fluttered in all direction, and she tried to survey every door leading to the kitchen—the garage hall, the main hall, even the hatches to the right, both above her head and at her feet, as if bullets could fly through them at any moment. Bullets or prying observers. </p><p>“I’m— what you said. You were right—every part of what you said was right—and I know that, but I want be better. I want to—”<em> 'To what? Change?'</em> the voice in the back of her mind derided. Her own Sisyphean task; her own paradox—change while remaining unchanged. Taina's voice pinched like her entire throat could collapse and suffocate her. A rush of blood to the head sucked all colour from her vision. “This seems like the worst time and place to be having this conversation, doesn’t it?”</p><p>Gustave shrugged with an air of nonchalance. He probably knew just as well as she did that if she didn’t speak now, if she found a way to finagle herself out of the moment, there would be no obligation to return to it. And she was <em>very</em> over confessionals.</p><p>“Nothing about this feels appropriate,” she said and pointed at her own face, stained with paint to make a sinister skull, an icon of death. Gustave chuckled but then his half-smile faltered. Discrete, but she could tell he didn’t fully believe her. And that hurt her more than she would ever, ever admit to anyone, including herself. Taina moved. Her hand ringed around his forearm, a loaded gesture—one she hoped that he would decode and comprehend. That he would translate her tenacious grip into the aching sincerity that simmered within. “But I do have a lot that I need to say.”</p><p>Gustave tried smiling once more, but only disappointment slanted his already morose eyes, screaming <em>say it to me now.</em> Taina bit down on her lip at the look on his face; the chemical taste of face paint pervaded her entire mouth and flowed down her throat with a swallow. Waxiness coated the edges of her teeth.</p><p>Taina watched his gaze alter, eyes glancing down at her hand still on him, but that wasn’t enough for her to release his arm. She refused—not until she knew he trusted her even though she hadn’t in any way earned it. Their eyes locked again, and reflexively her grip tightened on Gustave’s arm, assertive and pleading.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Missing it. Missing <em>him</em>, her only anchor of sense and sanity.</span></p><p>Another smile—entering the realm of genuine, if not a bit apprehensive. “You know where to find me,” he said.</p><p>The thick fabric of his GIGN coveralls scrubbed against the skin of her exposed fingertips. Her gloves, a grey-black tinge, brought forth the vibrant blue hue of his uniform. She fantasized about the tough muscle of his forearm, the heat of him, the hairs lining his skin. His touch, an experience she desperately tried to recollect and relive.</p><p>“Your friend has returned,” Gustave whispered.</p><p>Then she heard it. The stray set of footsteps.</p><p>Taina hauled herself backwards and away from him, practically tossing his arm out of her hold, eyes wide, face heated—hyperaware of the paint smothering her skin. Gustave’s head tilted to the side, indulging in her unnecessary panic. A switch flipped, and all the toxicity she could muster infused into her voice. “If you waste all your stims trying to peek out windows, I’m going to kill you myself,” she said before marching away.</p><p>“I’d never!”</p><p>“Whatever.” Taina made a point of choking out her pace right in front of Mozzie, who stood with his head banging to an indecipherable tempo like some kind of overly energetic bobblehead. “I’ll end you too, Vegemite,” she told him before leaving the kitchen, in the back of her mind pondering how many times that deceit would actually work.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Night fell in the blink of an eye. Taina found a way to make herself occupied, be it by taking a long and thorough shower or making the most convoluted meal she could with what few ingredients she had. Conveniently, all of it prevented her from following through on whatever vow she had sworn to herself. Didn’t stop her from thinking about it though. Not even close. She sat next to Emmanuelle at one of the kitchen tables, nudging chunks of the botched stew she had concocted with the tip of her spoon.</p><p>Mid-meal Emmanuelle leaned against her and whispered, “You feeling okay?”</p><p>Taina took a break from glaring at the cube of beef drowning in a black bean sea to glance not at the woman speaking to her, but at the commons room on the other side of the entire floor only to switch her attention to the hallways—all in vain. Gustave was nowhere to be found. She hoped he would stumble across her path, enabling her passivity to fate, and that her turbulent impulse would take over from there. Like riding a high, but no such luck. It was already 8:00 P.M.. ‘<em>Where is he?</em>’ There were only so many places he could hide, but she didn’t know if she was ready to assume the role of huntress, to take control, quite yet.</p><p>‘<em>I do have a lot that I need to say.’</em> Not a lie—she did. They just weren’t fully formed or coherent or easily speakable.</p><p>She scooped up a spoonful of beans and watched them splat back into the honey-coloured ceramic bowl. “I’m fine.”</p><p>“You know, you’re always either the greatest liar or the worst liar. There is no in-between with you.”</p><p>Taina’s eyes narrowed into thin slits only to roll at Emmanuelle. The other operators at the table, Ying, Hibana, and Lion, all made non-monetary bets on whatever the next operation would be. Missing out on the last operation in Australia clearly left a fiery yearning in them. ‘Now imagine that plus being on probation,’ she almost wanted to say even though it was her own doing. Perhaps that would conclude soon enough.</p><p>But perhaps it would come at a cost.</p><p>Taina shovelled beef and beans into a stack, forming a mini volcano of under-seasoned protein, and listened to them banter.</p><p>“Greece,” Olivier said. “Operation Prometheus.”</p><p>“Boo,” Hibana groaned.</p><p>Olivier chewed away on his piece of gum while fiddling with a strand of hair the colour of smelted iron. The gum clacked and popped between his white teeth. “Thailand. Operation One Night in Bangkok. No! Operation Chess. Short and simple.” He grinned, proud of himself. The sharp smile drew out the curves of his face.</p><p>“I love Bangkok,” Ying interjected.</p><p>Hibana took a sip from her red tumbler glass of ice-filled water. “Never going to happen,” she told Olivier.</p><p>“Fine,” he groaned. “Moldova. Operation Fallen Angel. That one sounds like it could be legitimate.”</p><p>Taina dropped her metal spoon into the bowl before her with a high-pitched, grating clatter. The detail-inscribed handle sank out of sight into a quicksand of beans. She jolted into a stand and used her hamstrings to nudge her chair back and away from the table.</p><p>Olivier asked, “It’s that awful?”</p><p>“You’re that awful,” Taina replied almost by default—an easy opening that couldn’t be passed up.</p><p>She made her way to the garbage to scrape out the bowl’s remnants with the stew-covered spoon. After blasting the dishes with water at the kitchen sink, she placed the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher, cleaned off her hands, and walked away. The sounds of Olivier listing off potential operation names and Yumiko hating on every one of them fell away. The fleecy fabric of her sweatpants served as a towel on which to dry whatever water hadn’t shaken off her hands.</p><p>An empty hallway greeted her when she entered. Taina halted, a standstill. Her hand reached into her pocket and drew out her phone. ‘<em>Maybe I should just message him and ask</em>,’ she thought. A single fingerprint unlocked the main screen of her phone. A message would just increase the expectation though; it would put her on a tighter deadline and solidify the obligation. Glancing up, the hallway before her was still abandoned. <em>Just do it</em>. <em>Do it now.</em> The floorboards groaned ever so slightly in response to her quickening movements despite her best efforts to move silent like a soft breeze.</p><p>She seized the doorknob of Gustave’s bedroom door. The metal, so frigid it burned her skin. But in a split second she yanked her hand back, fingers balled into a fist. Welcoming herself in didn’t even seem right anymore. Free invitations were a privilege, and she was fairly certain she’d been stripped of hers—a justifiable consequence.</p><p>Taina rapped her knuckles against the door twice and waited.</p><p>And waited.</p><p>She took a step back and hunched over to peer at the floor, where no light escaped from underneath the door. Darkness. <em>God damn it.</em></p><p>“Tai?”</p><p>Taina bolted into a perfect upright stance and pivoted. Emmanuelle stood at the mouth of the hallway, one hand gripping her other elbow, head hanging to the side. The bun at the crown of her head slanted with her, a few stray strands framing her face.</p><p>“Yeah,” Taina said, keeping her voice eerily placid. Not at all inconvenienced by Emmanuelle’s unexpected presence. <em>Not at all…</em> Emma’s line of sight flickered from her to Gustave’s sealed bedroom door and back to her.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“I can’t remember how long total exsanguination of the human body would take,” Taina said while marching back down the hallway. “I thought Doc would know.”</p><p>Emma rolled her eyes. “Hey, remember what I literally just said to you?”</p><p>“No, I don’t. It’s slipped my mind.” She swished her hand through the air, so venial, as she crossed Emma’s path. “Refresh me?”</p><p>Emmanuelle’s hand gripped onto Taina’s shoulder before she could slip by. Taina spun around by reflex. Emma hit her with a meaningful stare—it lanced through any flippancy right down to the very core of her being like a bayonet. A stare Taina tried to rival, struggling to breathe. The thick staticky air attempting homicide, like a chokehold from behind or an invisible pillow over her face. Emma’s thin eyebrows pranced: up then down then gravitating towards each other. She shook her head, and her mouth dropped open on the edge of an inquiry. ‘<em>Is it that weird?’</em> Taina asked herself, pretending she could remain objective and unbiased. In isolation, no. But she had casted herself as a repeat offender in terms of strange behaviour re: Gustave Kateb.</p><p>‘<em>He didn’t tell you anything?’</em></p><p>
  <em>‘No. Should he have?’</em>
</p><p>“What’s going on with—”</p><p>Taina’s lips screwed together in a suppressed grimace, and she shook her head back at Emmanuelle until she couldn’t bare to keep up the eye contact. Guilt drilled into her, revolving like nails in her spine, paralyzing her. Taina shoved her hands into the pockets of her sweater. Out of sight, beyond scrutiny. There, her thumb prodded at the newest scab on her forefinger. Emmanuelle released Taina’s shoulder. Freedom in sight, Taina summoned a shadow of a smile.</p><p>“He’s in medical.”</p><p>Ridiculous to think the man who worked himself to death would be elsewhere. Taina nodded vigorously, caught herself, and then shook her head just as frantically. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I just wanted a record to beat.”</p><p>Emma bobbed her head to the side and nudged in the direction of the main dormitory doors. “Go do what you need to do.”</p><p>“It’s really not that important.”</p><p>“I’m sure he won’t mind,” Emma said. She broke left and made her own way toward the hallway leading to the women’s bedrooms. “And I’m not judging.”</p><p>Taina scoffed, hacking up a laugh. “I’ll be fine.”</p><p>She sauntered through the hallway into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Taina gripped onto the sink, the muscles in her forearms spasming, nails clanking against the porcelain. Black nail polish, stark against the white albeit stained and discoloured sink. Soapy water dribbled down the inside and pooled around the drain. The green bar perched on the edge, still wet, released a cucumber scent. Taina raised her chin and despised the sight before her. Bloodshot eyes. Chapped lips. Dry skin. A flushing face. She grazed her fingertips down the side of her face wishing she were smudging lines of paint over her skin, imagining it. Yearning for it. Concealing one’s face within the military wasn’t uncommon: SAS had masks; GIGN had balaclavas. Helmets. Hoods. A combination of all the above to maintain anonymity and stifle any identity. She used paint. Unorthodox, hardly a BOPE requirement despite embodying the organization—its motto, its symbol. A good fear tactic, sure—it gave her power. Or, it used to… But she used it for reasons she’d never admit to herself. It made for a good way to hide. From the world, from others. From herself. It depersonalized, dehumanized. Made her into both something her but other than herself, transcending beyond the human—beyond an impulsive wreck, beyond a pining fool, beyond a blushing idiot, beyond a faulty, broken human. Another mask to conceal another mask. She wore so many that some days she swore that only a blank infinity dwelled beneath it all. So many layers of Caveira, it was impossible to tell where Taina stopped or ended. Maybe the answer was nowhere. But something evasive, though very much alive, told her otherwise—she felt it.</p><p>Taina flipped her hand over and shoved the backs of her fingers into her cheek, the flesh pinching against her jaw and teeth, in a venture to douse the hot flames with her chilled extremities.</p><p>
  <em>Focus.</em>
</p><p>She withdrew her hand from her face, tempted to do something else. Something worse. To splash water into her eyes, to slap herself in the face—something. Just to confirm she hadn’t yet terminated existence. Taina watched her reflection begin to scratch at the scab marking her index finger. It tore off in one stiff, reddish-purple piece. Pain rippled down her hand in a torrent, breeding a burst of adrenaline. The telltale signal.</p><p>
  <em>Go.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Want</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! So, I hated where last chapter ended and also this chapter has been a thorn in my side for three days straight while trying to fix it. I think it's decent enough now (sort of), but at the same time I never want to look at it again ever. So I'm posting early. Here we go!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taina flicked off the bathroom light and opened the door in one fluid movement. <em>Go.</em> She rushed out of the dormitory building and blazed her way through the hallways into the connecting building, the blood in her veins screaming the entire time. Past the gym and the walkway leading to the kill house prep rooms, past the exact spot she had her talk with Harry. Medical bay in her sights, the tempo of her pace reached double time, legs writhing in a gentle burn that only goaded her on more. And then every muscle seized up. </p><p>She halted, a few meters from the medical bay door—firmly closed in place.</p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>Taina crept closer, ensuring she kept her footsteps down to a whisper, and sloped towards the door. Never touching it though, only getting close enough to hear Gustave’s low and resonant voice permeating through from the other side. Her hands clenched like she was ready to wring the neck of fate. Instead, she huffed and continued on down the barren hallway with no destination. Red beaded on her fingertip. With the pad of her finger between her lips, she sucked the blood away, that sickening metallic taste spreading over her tongue. Her teeth bit down on the skin as if the clamping force could seal the wound. Stinging. Her body shivered. Taina stole glances out each window along her journey through the stretching hallway.</p><p>Unable to find the moon, she ceased any forward progress and perched herself against one of the random and unremarkable ice cold windowsills. Craning, cheek almost smooshed against the barred glass, she found the sliver. A miserable crescent hanging in the black. No stars painted the dark sky. They were there—somewhere, hiding. Too busy being drowned by the infectious artificial lights that shrouded Hereford.</p><p>Taina whipped out her phone again to check the time. Typical for one who lived life eternally short on patience.</p><p>Impatience wasn’t the problem though. Running out of ways to coerce her nervous system into producing adrenaline she could abuse in her impulsivity—that was the problem. Ways to chase the self-harming dragon ran drier than a desert. Maybe that slap in the face isn’t a bad idea.</p><p>Her rising hand quivered at the idea. Willing and able.</p><p>
  <em>Clank.</em>
</p><p>Taina shifted only slightly. Eyes darting, doing most of the surveillance work for her, while staying as hidden as possible. The medical bay door tore open, and Gridlock marched out into the hallway. She tossed a wave back into the room. “Thanks, Doc! Let’s never do this again.” With that, she marched down the hallway on the way back to the dormitory building. </p><p>
  <em>Go.</em>
</p><p>Taina shoved herself off the windowsill and snuck over to the medical bay door with silent steps. Leaning to peer in, she analyzed the set of circumstances before her: Gustave, alone in the room, stood over his desk, peering down at a clipboard riddled with writing. His eyebrows, constantly furrowed. Taina crept into the room, hands balled into fists behind her back, without a sound. A safe distance, she planted herself in place. Waiting. Gustave tore the white gloves off his hands one by one, the latex slapping and sticking together in a ball that plummeted into the garbage bin. Next, he unhooked the blue face mask from around his ears and dropped it into the trash as well. He picked up the clipboard from his desk and took two paces into the centre of the room. Right towards her.</p><p>Gustave glanced up from his own writing. Then he recoiled, eyes bulging.</p><p><em>“Merdasse!</em>” His hand thumped over his chest, right above his heart. “Taina!” </p><p>She half-shrugged at him, sheepish and apologetic, and remained silent as he worked to regain control of his breath and fight off any possible heart attack. </p><p>Gustave’s eyes coaxed shut, and he wheezed out an uneven exhale. Then his eyes fluttered open again. “You found me.”</p><p>“What are we doing?” Taina asked him, blunt.</p><p>“I don’t know.” He shifted for the briefest of moments, only to toss the clipboard back onto his desk—wood smacking against wood. Facing her again, his eyes scanned over her body, an already planted smile flowering on his lips. “I still care for you. I wish that didn’t frighten you.”</p><p>“What if I can’t care for you back?” Taina murmured.</p><p>“Oh,” he said, voice sagging with realization, crestfallen. “You don’t?”</p><p>Taina shook her head and entered deeper into the room. “That’s— no, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m saying, what if I <em>can’t</em>?” Literally. Psychologically. Emotionally, physically, metaphysically. Didn’t matter the realm or manner—she knew herself, her shortcomings and deficiencies. The failures. She knew them well because she had long ago weaponized them. “What if I don’t possess the capability of really, truly caring like that—caring for you or anyone for that matter?”</p><p>“I know you can.”</p><p>“You <em>know</em>?” she asked. “Based off what?”</p><p>“Everything,” he said, and at her narrowed eyes, he clarified. “Based off what I know and what I’ve seen of you.”</p><p>Taina scoffed, hands on her hips. He had been right about her—that she could admit, but that didn’t mean she was wrong about herself either. “Have you considered the possibility that I’ve just been manipulating you this whole time?”</p><p>“Have you been?” he asked plainly, somehow not sounding offended by the proposition.</p><p>A concept so easy for her to subscribe to. Another high to abuse. Manipulating, gaslighting—she could mine for untruths in every word she ever spoke, and she was certain every time she would find something. Even in the moment, her heart hurtled in her ribcage—an adrenaline rush, she figured. <em>Fear</em>, something else told her. “I don’t think— I don’t know! And the fact that I don’t know should scare you.” </p><p>The room went quiet—the entire building, a different beast during the evenings. A silent one. Somewhat frightening. Even the window on the other side of the room—no wind, no rain, nothing assailing it to fight off the gnawing hush feeding her insanity. Gustave jammed his hands into the pockets of his perfectly white lab coat and winced while processing her words. Finally, he took a deep breath and replied, “Bringing up the possibility of manipulating someone in the middle of a manipulative scheme? That endgame makes no sense, and I know you’re smarter than that.”</p><p>Taina hacked out a laugh. Then she raised a hand to her forehead, fingers and thumb compressed against her skull like she could pulverize the migraine swelling underneath. An arrangement of too-bright colours and obscure shapes assaulted her vision from behind her eyes. She closed them anyways, just to enjoy the peace and solitude in the darkness. </p><p>“And... we are having this conversation because you admitted to me, point-blank, that you want to be better,” Gustave said, voice, drawing nearer. “What about that could possibly scare me?“</p><p><em>Be better.</em> Change.</p><p>It sounded so much more real when he said it. More tangible than a concept and therefore not insurmountable.</p><p>Gustave ringed his hand around her wrist. The mere touch, airy, phantasmic—a hallucination she’d have sworn had she not opened her eyes—it commanded her hand to fall away from her face but never back down to her side. Gustave’s hand moved, shifting from her wrist to along her palm. Breathless, she watched it all happen—his fingers parted hers and laced through them, warm, perfect. A tsunami of heat surged under the skin, throughout her entire body, melding with her blood. She clutched his hand back, tightening her hold, fingertips nestling into the valleys between his dry knuckles. </p><p>“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Taina whispered, shaking her head while despising herself for the damage she couldn’t undo. “<em>More</em> hurt.”</p><p>Taina finally deviated her glance from their intertwined hands to his tired, dark irises. Eyes that seemed set on nothing more than healing her from the inside out, framed by thick eyebrow arched with yearning to allay all that ate her alive.</p><p> “I don’t want either of us getting hurt,” she said.</p><p>That fear, the heart of the hurricane. It scared her. Not being hurt by him because she knew he would never, even though he <em>could</em>. So easily. That deep under her skin, he could decimate her in a split second, with one single innocuous-seeming blow, if he so desired. There had been so many walls she built around herself that, before, no one could hurt her. Before. Days that seemed so far gone.</p><p>An image surfaced, permanently burned behind her eyes, and summoned a full twinge. The split, eternally scarred skin on her left index finger weeping blood.</p><p>Such an unjustified fear in the face of internal warfare. Taina wondered, briefly—could anyone ever really hurt her as much as she hurt herself?</p><p>Confessions and the sickening taste of iron still marring her tongue, she continued. “I’m not good at… not being alone. And its not fair for you to have collateral damage falling on you because of my insufficiencies. I said I want to be better and I do, but— I’m awful at change and self-improvement. I’m bad at communication. I’m bad at being open.”</p><p>“You’re doing pretty good now,” he complimented with a small smile.</p><p>Taina sighed, shoulders slouching forward. “It’s a struggle.”</p><p>“Need a break?”</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>Gustave nodded, and he inched a little bit closer. “Do you trust me?”</p><p>The question, a weighty one, but seeking its answer posed zero hardships.</p><p><em>More than anyone…</em> </p><p>Taina nodded, a non-verbal cue that urged Gustave to continue, melting his voice into something somehow even softer and malleable, barely above a whisper. “I’m not going to hurt you, Taina, and I really don’t think you’re going to hurt me.”</p><p>Ashamed and compromised, she said, “I don’t know if I can give you what you want or what you need.” The moment overwhelmed her. Their eye contact fractured into a thousand pieces when she hid her face, staring at the un-mopped floor below her teal and grey athletic shoes instead. Yet they never let go of each other’s hand—something Taina only realized when she felt the pad of Gustave’s thumb skate down the side of palm and the side of her wrist. </p><p>“Would you be opposed to trying?” he asked. </p><p><em>No</em>. And that was her main qualm—trying always put you in failure’s line of fire. Her tongue ran numb inside her dry sandpaper-like mouth. </p><p>When she didn’t respond, Gustave joked by saying, “You always liked a good challenge anyway, <em>non</em>?”</p><p>Taina blinked twice. “You’re<em> challenging </em>me?”</p><p>The outer corner of his lip twitched upwards. She had a feeling his response hinged entirely on her reception of the idea.</p><p>Her shoulders bounced once in a single half-assed shrug. “I mean, I do. I don’t know that they’re good foundation to build a relationship upon though.”</p><p>Relationship. The word even leaving her mouth, she felt like a foolish teen again. Trapped in a time where the word left her lovelorn for weeks, possessed for days, and broken for months. All the pent of angst and rage and scattered emotions—like a pile of leaves demolished by a gale-force wind. ‘<em>Fuck,</em>’ she thought,<em> ‘I haven’t changed at all, have I?</em>’ She wasn’t even sure why she expected otherwise.</p><p>The word didn’t affect her alone—her vision refocused only to catch a smirk flicker across Gustave’s lips faster than a flash of lightning at the use of the word; she had to shoot a glare back at him.</p><p>“You’re probably right,” Gustave said, sighing. “Though you’ve never struck as someone with an affinity for the conventional.”</p><p>“I’m not.” Taina reached over to grip onto his wrist, thumb resting over the veins under his skin. His radial pulse hammered against her, subtle, fleeting. Like a secret. With leverage on her side, she detangled her hand out of his—a purposeless move. His touch had already left her slanted, and inside her she knew. She sensed it. That cause was fading. ‘<em>Give up the fight</em>,’ she tried to coax herself. To cut loose the ball and chain anchoring her to the deep pit she held herself captive in. “Nor all those previously mentioned qualities that are kind of required for a functional relationship—”</p><p>Gustave, chuckling with all the mirth in the world, smirked once more.</p><p>“Stop it!” she wheezed, trying to snuff out her own rising laugh matching him and his innocence. </p><p>“Right, sorry,” he said before nodding, face and tone turning earnest once more. “It would take time.”</p><p>Taina shook her head at him, indistinguishable at first before flipping to exaggerated in the blink of an eye. “I’d be a perennial work in progress. The longest you’d ever see your entire life.”</p><p>“As long as you’d be willing, it would be possible. I know you like doing things alone, and I’m sure in some way you feel safer alone, but that doesn’t mean you should have to <em>be</em> alone. I want to be with you; I think you want to be with me. It probably won’t be that easy, but the best things usually aren’t anyways, right? You won’t have to figure it out alone either. I’ll be right there with you to help.” Gustave’s eyes took a short journey over her body before piercing through her eyes once more. “I believe in you.”</p><p>A facetious smile possessed her—she never felt it nor the fake laugh coming. “That makes one of us.”</p><p>His breaths, like sun-warmed water lapping against the coast of her skin. It had only been a few moments, but she already couldn’t breathe. She needed to feel him once more. His touch, an all-consuming craving. One they shared in; Gustave raised his hand, still carrying the faint rubbery scent of latex, to caress her cheek this time.</p><p>“You deserve to be loved, Taina,” Gustave said. “As much as you probably think otherwise, you do, and I’ll never stop trying to convince you—to <em>prove</em> you—otherwise.”</p><p>Her rationale and reasoning all at once abandoned their defences. </p><p>Taina zeroed in on her own heartbeat pounding thunderously in her ears, turning almost all of his words into white noise. Almost. Coals burned under the skin of her cheeks, setting her thoughts ablaze. Resistance burned with it. </p><p>“And if it all goes to shit?” she asked, voice fraying with genuine worry into a raspy whisper.</p><p><em>France.</em> </p><p>It popped into her mind like some invasive weed. That night. The night everything became too real. Running. Screaming silently. Bleeding. The origin of her manmade strifes. France sounded remarkable, and she longed to go, and she wanted him to take her there even if it all went to shit. Taina peeled his hand from the side of her face, not letting him go. </p><p>“It could. I think we both know it could. Especially with this lifestyle, but if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out,” he said. “We’re both professionals, right?” </p><p>Going AWOL. <em>Professional.</em></p><p>Going on a killing spree. <em>Professional.</em></p><p>Seducing a coworker. <em>Professional.</em></p><p>“Professionals,” she repeated, nodding. “Right…”</p><p>The chaos over his desk stole away her attention and worked away at the build-up of trepidation. A stand of tubes, half of them filled with blood, capped with lids of different colours. One yellow biohazard disposal container sat beside it. A wheeled cart had been set up next to his seat and was loaded with equipment and tools. A manual blood press gauge, a thermometer, an otoscope, a box of tongue depressors—what she made a point of always referring to as popsicle sticks. Scattered between all that equipment, documents. ‘<em>He must have been doing Gridlock’s patient intake</em>,’ Taina reasoned. She recalled her own; the only check up she had attended willingly and <em>only</em> to make a good impression on her new employers. So long ago, it resurfaced in vague flashes of snapshots and words. She remembered being less than kind to Doc—one of the handful of moments she wished she could take back or black out from both of their consciousnesses.</p><p>“Even if it all… <em>goes to shit</em>,” Gustave said, stare electrifying with that fierce compassion of his, “as much as I know you’ll loathe hearing this, I need you to know that I will still be there for you and support you regardless of what does or doesn’t transpire between us.”</p><p>Taina, nose scrunched up, gagged on nothing in the back of her throat. Nothing except unease. “You’re right. I hate it. Stop.”</p><p>He shook his head and chuckled at her reaction, fine lines forming at the outer edges of his eye and around his lips to accent a smile. “All I want is for you to try,” he said. Right hand still captured in both of hers, the fingers of his left hand stroked aside her side bangs for a perfect glimpse into her eyes. “I’d rather have loved and lost than not be with you and regret it until the day I die.”</p><p>Then he grew silent.</p><p>The malicious buzzing of a dying light bulb overhead did nothing to suffocate the sound of her savage heartbeat. Rampant. Quick. Deafening. A haze shrouded her mind like she was set to faint.</p><p>Gustave snuck another step closer to her—a step that afforded him no more to take. One deep, purifying inhale then he shoved out a hoarse exhale. Eyes locked, his gaze seared through her. Gustave then asked, “What do you want?”</p><p>The question, a siren call. A beckoning.</p><p>What did she want? The end. A ceasefire on the attrition of every reinforced wall closing in around her soul. Freedom. Peace. Forgiveness.</p><p>She wanted many things, selfish. </p><p>“You,” Taina uttered.</p><p>Gustave gave her one affirmative nod. </p><p>Then, untangling himself from her completely, he shifted, stepped around where she stood frozen place, and walked away.</p><p>Taina’s eyes shot open—drowning in light, colours strobing at her. Waves of panic crashed around her. “Wait.” A cold sweat, a mist of fear, encased her skin. The pit of her stomach seemed to fall out from inside her. Like altering g-forces on a rollercoaster. Her knees buckled under her own weight when she spun around and said, “I’ll try! I promise.”</p><p>Her arm flung out, like she could stop him or clutch onto him even though he was all the way at the door already.</p><p>Which he then closed with a soft <em>click.</em> He fastened the locking mechanism next.</p><p>“Oh,” she breathed out.</p><p>Gustave chuckled at her ascending and misplaced hysteria while striding back over to her. The light ricocheted off the metallic chest piece of the stethoscope still around his neck and it flashes into her eye in flickers. He came to a sudden standstill a few feet short of her. Close but at a distance.</p><p>His arm circled around her waist and tugged her closer, sending her body careening into his. He then flicked out his left index finger, placing it under her chin, and gave her a nudge. Forcing her to stare back into his eyes. She did. They welled with a burning fire. Tenderness, desire. Gustave leaned forward and crashed his mouth onto hers. Taina kissed him back, hard and frantic—as if she’d never be able to again. Over and over on repeat. Kisses that could sentence her to a sweet oblivion. </p><p>For a moment Taina tried to pull away—an attempt met with resistance. Gustave raked his fingers through her hair and kissed her again, and she couldn’t help but dive back in again. Her hips and chest fitting against his. Hands hooking onto his shoulders. Tongue warring with his. He moaned into her mouth—a sound she swallowed and took in. Eventually she managed to break away.</p><p>Gustave moved to kiss her again. Her fingertips squished against his lips, radiating heat from the rush of blood. “You have to promise me something in return.”</p><p>“Oh.” Gustave pouted at her. A look that appeared to cut his age in half. “I suppose that’s only fair. What is it?”</p><p>“The moment that I do something bad, you <em>have</em> to leave me.”</p><p>Confusion birthed a knot between his thick and dark straight eyebrows. “‘Something bad?’”</p><p>“If I start manipulating you. Or start being too impulsive or violent or— or apathetic or reckless. When I go too far—” Taina balled her hands into fists that she released with a sigh, knuckles cracking and popping at the exertion. <em>Self-sabotaging.</em> Her hands caressed either side of his face instead. The stubble dusted across his cheeks scratched at the skin of her palms. Her forehead skimmed against his, their skin sharing in a different kind of kiss. She took a deep breath of him, of some clean, woodsy scent from his hair, imbibed in it before speaking further. “<em>If</em> I ever go too far, you have to leave me. Promise me.”</p><p>He fell downcast, lips wrenching into a a puckered, miniature frown. “I doubt—”</p><p>A chunk of his lab coat crumpled in her clenched hand, and she gave him a short but vehement shake. “<em>Promise me.</em>”</p><p>“Okay.” A measure of discontentment weighed down his words. “I promise.”</p><p>Taina let go of him. “Thank y—” </p><p>“But Taina,” he said, ensnaring her further in the trap of his embrace. “I trust you. Never forget that.”</p><p>“I promise to try,” she repeated, making her voice as robotic as possible, but then her tone shifted, soaring high and unpredictable like a kite in an autumn breeze. “Oh, by the way.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Her lips grazed against his one final time, quick and warm and full of sparks. “You make me happy too.”</p><p>And hopeful. And sane. Stronger. Better. He didn’t need to know about those ones though.</p><p>Taina wriggled out from his hold on her and kneed at the worn visitor armchair, still in place across from his wheeled stool from Gridlock previously occupying it. Cracked jet black vinyl stretched across the backrest and had began shrivelling at some point, somehow appearing water-stained and desiccated at the same time. Taina walloped her hip against the chair one final time. The chrome arm, in remarkable condition by contrast—gleaming like quicksilver—bashed against the side of Gustave’s wooden desk. Taina grimaced. Her hand flicked once, a menial wave over her shoulder. “Sorry.”</p><p>“What are you doing?” he asked, walking over to his own seat.</p><p>“Watching you work.” Taina gripped onto the armrests just to let her body plop into the chair. Only then it occurred to her to ask in all sincerity, in all innocence, “Does that bother you?”</p><p>“<em>Non</em>. Not at all. I just don’t know why you’d want to.”</p><p>Taina hunched forward. The edge of the wooden desk prodded right into her chest, the ribs right under her bust, but she didn’t care. Head cradled in one hand, her other pointer finger roamed along the curved, ragged edge of the metal spring clip on his clipboard packed with papers, documents, records. “Well, there’s also the fact that I think Emma may be catching onto us, and by <em>us</em> I mean <em>me</em>, and I’m not prepared to deal with that at this moment in time, so I’m just going to stay right here for now.”</p><p>“Fine by me,” he said, beaming. His hands flicked at the end of his lab coat, the white fabric draping down his back, as he lowered himself into his seat. Next he smothered the top page of the clipboard with a splayed hand and dragged the clipboard out from under Taina’s touch, summoning a petty, little frown from her. “Although, you shouldn’t be looking at someone else’s medical records.”</p><p>“I’m not looking at the medical records,” she assured, dazzling him with a devious smirk.</p><p>Gustave laughed while shaking his head. He swiped a pen and began writing away in the margins of his paper. The breath drained out of Taina's lungs in a slow and steady stream, a secret sigh. Contentment. A thorough willingness to waste the night away admiring his every move until he changed his mind. Until she fell asleep. Until the end of time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Fallen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So… Look. I know this is the third chapter I’ve posted in, like, a week. Which is 100% not a sustainable posting rate. But in my mind these three chapter have kind of felt like one really long chapter serving as the midpoint/ordeal anyways, and since the next chapter is sort of the beginning of the final half and completely changes gears, I thought I might as well just post this now and then go back to more weekly updates. Plus I’ve had an endless and shitastic week (don’t know about anybody else), and just in case anyone else is in that same boat, why the hell not?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Translucent, muddy light leached through the darkness—or perhaps it was the other way around. Creeping up the unfamiliar walls. Casting maniacal and indecipherable shadows all around her from behind, barely noticeable to her dry eyes, lids heavier than lead. Her body, sprawled and stretched out. Her surroundings, utterly unfamiliar. ‘<em>Where the hell am I?</em>’ Awareness hit her over the head like a piece of plywood. One massive convulsion was all it took to roll onto her back and sit up. Only then did the room make sense: the dimensions—three times bigger than her bedroom, the line of beds next to her, Doc still sitting at his desk on the other side of the room.</p><p>Med bay.</p><p>His shoulders were hunch as he worked. The lights overhead throughout the entire room had been shut off. The only source of illumination—a vintage industrial rolling medical lamp he had nestled up to the edge of his desk. It replaced the cart of instruments. Bright white light beamed from the bulb, shining right over his desk. The chair she had occupied—the last bit of her memory—still tucked against the side of his desk. Vacant. Abandoned. Saddening to her for some reason.</p><p>Gustave’s silhouette shifted, and she could make out the shape of him peering over his shoulder. “Oh, you’re awake,” he said, voice thinning in surprise. “I thought you’d sleep longer than that.”</p><p>Taina swung her body so her legs dangled off the side of the high hospital bed—so high her feet couldn’t even touch the ground. The metal contraption, hollow, creaked alongside her movements. “How long was I sleeping?” she asked, stretching, setting off a symphony of cracks and pops from her spine. </p><p>“Not that long.”</p><p>“What time is it?”</p><p>He raised his wrist to check. “Quarter to ten.”</p><p>“And you’re still working?” Taina hopped off the bed. The sudden impact of her feet against the floor seemed to splinter her bones and turn her muscles to putty. It took time to shuffle all the way over to where he still sat in his stool.</p><p>“Intakes always take longer.” Gustave took an additional second in order to finish writing his sentence on a scan of some kind. He then rose from his desk and shifted to face Taina, arms almost automatically taking hold of her. “I’ll still be a bit. You should just go to bed.”</p><p>Her eyelids sank despite her best intentions. “Hm.” </p><p>No response. No defence. Her hands brushed along his shoulders and slipped down the muscles of his arms. A support to keep her body still upright. She figured she’d stay put until she started wilting and eventually collapsed on the floor. And she was content to, but Gustave—not so much. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, twirled her around, and softly shoved her towards the door. “Go to bed.”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>Taina dragged her feet while she made her way to the door. A lackadaisical hand wrenched at the door knob twice before remembering that he had locked it, and eventually she flung the door open. “Don’t work too late,” she told him. She couldn’t imagine. All the extra work. The extra hours. The extra stress. While other operators like her did what? Hit the gym a couple extra times? <em>That doesn't even seem fair.</em></p><p>“I won’t,” Gustave said. Already back at his desk, nestled into his seat, and writing away. “Goodnight.”</p><p>“‘Night.”</p><p>The trudge all the way back to the dormitory building guzzled every ounce of her energy save for the reserve only to brush her teeth. Once in her bedroom, resigned to sleeping in her hooded sweatshirt and yoga pants, she crashed face first into her bed. Exhaustion gnawed at her entire body, her skin, her muscles, her very bones—everything except what lived behind her tired eyes. The monster dwelling between her ears, inside her skull. Taina tossed and then she turned, getting ravelled up in her bedsheets, every once and a while rifling a glance at her clock.</p><p>2210.</p><p>2228.</p><p>2255.</p><p>2306. </p><p>The war against her own blankets had caused a sweat to form behind her neck. Hand slapping against the mattress, she forced herself into a sit and sighed. ‘<em>Fuck this shit.</em>’ She hated everything: the heat swelling inside her, how clearly she could make out every single object in her dark room, the thoughts screaming at her in the silence. 2315. Taina glanced at her bedroom door. <em>I wonder if he’s asleep.</em> One sure-fire way to find out... and she considered it for a fleeting moment, but getting up and sneaking into Gustave’s room still didn’t feel right. Taina half-rolled over, swiped at her phone, ripping it out of the charger, and laid back down. After unlocking the device, she clicked on the messages icon. It had been so long that any old conversation had been automatically purged, so she created a new one.</p><p>
  <em>‘Are you still up?’</em>
</p><p>She hit the send button, dropped the black cell phone onto her stomach, and waited for half a second.</p><p>And in that half a second, the ceiling seemed fall on her, caving in and crumbling from above like rubble. Each wall sinking inward. Ready to suffocate her at any moment. Unable to breathe, she raised her phone again to take a tiny peek at the screen—like maybe it wasn’t real, all just a lucid dream. The simple question she had written and sent received no response whatsoever. Taina squished the screen back against her midsection. Unspoken words, viscous and painful like hot magma, burned on her tongue, aching inside her teeth, choking her. She clacked her nails against the back of the phone case. Ruminating.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t do it.</em>
</p><p>Taina picked up her phone and began typing again despite herself.</p><p>
  <em>‘I need you.’</em>
</p><p>Her thumb smashed the send button once more. One click, and she shut off the screen and tossed the device back onto the bedside table. It crashed, loud and discordant, into her plastic alarm clock, shifting the otherworldly green blaze through the room. She smacked a hand over her flushing face. “<em>Idiota</em>.” The heels of her palms corkscrewed into her eye sockets. Squishing her eyeballs, feeling them move under the pressure. Eyelashes bent and jutting out of place. A light coating of sweat had gathered in the creases of her eyelids. Taina peeled her hands away and glanced at her phone. And then her bedroom door. Then her phone. Constantly greeted only by darkness and nothing more. </p><p><em>I’ll regret that in the morning</em>. She didn’t want to think about it—it could wait until after sleep. Taina rolled onto her side, staring at the blank wall, and wrangled her pillow.</p><p><em>Sleep</em>, she tried to convince herself. <em>Sleep. </em></p><p>Her eyes fluttered shut. The hissing of silence began to fade. But replacing it, something worse.</p><p>Distant shrieks and screams—slipping through her window that lacked any solid insulation.</p><p>Her eyes tore back open at the rhythmic but blood curdling sound. Not uncommon at Hereford base so encompassed by open fields, but the sound always gave her a momentary fright, a short dosage of adrenaline. ‘<em>Stupid red foxes.</em>’ The vixen’s scream. It always sounded so human to her, so panicked. And now, the sound, some furry animal out frolicking through the grassy hills and wanting to mate, projected through the dark of night and ripped through the humming noise flooding her mind. Constant visceral screeching.</p><p>Taina buried her face in her pillow. <em>Maybe the lack of oxygen will knock me out.</em> At this point, she would take it. She slammed her eyes closed one more time.</p><p><em>Sleep</em>.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When her eyes coaxed open, she recognized her surroundings at least, but the utter darkness left her dismayed. Still the dead of night. The agony, the solitude—interrupted but clearly not over. On her side, arms tucked into her chest, knees bundled into the fetal position, her body resisted against any rapid movements. Unfolding more than shifting. Taina blinked, trying to grab a handle on full consciousness. <em>Something is wrong. </em>She could feel it. In her gut, in the back of her mind. Nothing bad just… off. Different. Out of place. But no source; no sounds, no foreign sensations. Just a skewed perception of reality, a dream state deception. The wind howled outside, ferocious like a pack of wolves. Taina shook her head and groaned, forcing herself to crawl into a sit. Even then she felt out of place. <em>Strange. </em>Ripples of moonbeams peeked in through the corner of her window, breaking through the slits of the blinds. Taina stretched her arms skyward.</p><p>A sigh ruptured the silence.</p><p>A sigh that was not her own. A sigh from behind her. </p><p>
  <em>What the—</em>
</p><p>Taina twisted, slow and hesitant, as if she trudged through molasses, and peered over her shoulder, half expecting to find someone occupying the threshold of the door. But no—instead, a body laying under the covers next to her.</p><p>A thrill, elation, exploded through her veins.</p><p>Gustave Kateb. </p><p>Eyes sealed shut. Taking deep, slow breaths. Like waves at low tide. Laying on his side, facing her. His right arm stretched out across the mattress like it could have, at some point, been draped over her. He had laid himself down to sleep in the third of the bed she hadn’t occupied.</p><p>Doing her best to banish all desire to reach out and touch him—his hair, his cheek, his lips—Taina smiled to herself.</p><p>
  <em>You came.</em>
</p><p>Something overwhelmed her spirit. Stormed her eyes, obscuring her vision. A thousand threads keeping her heart together seemed to all beautifully unravel at once. So real it hurt.</p><p><em>Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? </em>Taina wondered to herself. <em>Am I falling—</em></p><p>Taina peeled the sheets and comforter off her legs and slithered out of bed as unnoticeable as possible. Noiseless. She studied Gustave the entire time, ready to seize up her body at the first sign of a reaction from him. But he only took one dragged out inhalation before carrying on with the mesmerizing cadence of his breaths. Cautious. And quiet—she had never evaded her own bedroom while trying to be so much of either. The door hung open after she exited. Left unlatched by choice to cutdown on any noise. Still, once Taina set foot into the hallway, her back flattened against the wall, and she smothered her face in both hands to keep silent.</p><p>
  <em>Shit. Shit, shit, shit.</em>
</p><p>Her wrist swabbed at the sweat beading along her hair line. Next she reached back and tugged at her braid until her hand slipped down to the tail end. Nail hooked precariously under the elastic securing it in place, she yanked. The elastic tore out of her hair, ripping out strands with it; she felt them dangling in the air and brushing along her skin when she shoved the elastic in her sweater pocket. Her other hand compressed against her scalp to ease the throbbing pain.</p><p><em>It’s fine</em>, she urged herself. Desperate to deny otherwise. <em>You’re fine.</em></p><p>Taina shuffled through the hallways by memory, cutting through the darkness with ease all the way into the kitchen. The open area, a few noticeable degrees lower in temperature than her bedroom. She opened both squeaky cupboards of drinkware: mugs, plastic tumblers, novelty cups. All of which belonged to a specific person she was certain. On the top shelf, the only thing she knew hadn’t been assigned to anyone—rows of definitely not crystal square lowball glasses bearing the Rainbow logo. Hand swiping one, her fingertips cut through the thin layer of dust cloaking the glass.</p><p>Taina stuffed her nose into the glass and took a breath in just to check its status. It reeked of hand soap and oldness.</p><p>Walking over to the sink, she flipped on the faucet and stuck the glass under the spout. Water swirled inside. A flick of the wrist and then—<em>splash</em>. Dumped out just to be filled again, and then she took a large gulp of oddly mineral-laden water. It had less of an effect on her temperature than she had hoped it would. Still flushing from the bout of sweeping anxiety. Her cozy sweater probably wasn’t helping either. In the moment, the thought of shoving her head under the faucet and dousing herself in ice cold water just to cool off tempted her... More than it ought to at one in the morning.</p><p>Taina returned to her bedroom and took her time securing the door shut behind her without making any kind of disturbance. Content with a job well done she spun around and checked. </p><p>Gustave hadn’t altered his position at all. The cadence of his breaths, still perfectly on beat—a slow, largo tempo. Taina swore she tasted his scent in the air.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, God.</em>
</p><p>Her desk served as base for the time being. Easing out the chair to sit in it posed too much of a noise liability, so she settled for leaning against the desk. A stack of papers served as a coaster. Padding, to stifle the <em>thud</em> when she set the old fashioned glass down. Taina stood doing nothing, in a trance. Deafened by her own pounding, ceaseless heartbeat. In her chest. In her throat. In her ears. One arm wrapped around her torso, she raised her other hand and bit at the nail of her thumb.</p><p><em>Crack</em>.</p><p>Flakes of nail polish scattered through her mouth—between her teeth and across her tongue. Grimacing, she picked the black chunks of nail polish out from her teeth and flicked them off her fingertips. <em>Bad idea.</em> Alternatives always existed though.</p><p>Her left index finger preemptively ached. Body, anticipating. Conditioned to the pain. Her nails clawed at the edges of the scab there. Still staring. Narrowed eyes trying to spot the rising and falling of Gustave’s chest. A subtle sign, too subtle to see from such a distance in the dark. She heard its consequences though. His inhales. His exhales. Soft and peaceful, almost lulling her to sleep where she stood. Eyelids heavy, sinking. If she didn’t also feel like she might drown in her own sweat.</p><p>Taina reached down, clutching onto the ribbed elastic waistband of her sweater and tugged. Chunks of hair tangled in the folds of the hood. Her wrists wrestled with the cuffs for freedom. She ripped the article off her body, and cool air doused her skin all at once. It chilled the perspiration blanketing the small of her back and the creases in her elbows. Taina let go, and the balled clump of fabric plummeted onto the floor. </p><p>The sound of skin roaming against sheets occupied the room. It smothered the sound of her own pulse. And more. A cold rush. Static coursing through her veins. Taina remained perfectly frozen in place and watched with wide eyes. Gustave rolled over in her bed, the covers ebbing and flowing with his movements. Then suddenly it stopped. He raised his head and paused before forcing himself to sit up. Looking around, she assumed, but unable to see her in the darkness so fresh to his eyes. Somehow though, he still knew.</p><p>“Taina?”</p><p>The bile pooling at the back of her throat forced her to swallow. Swallow or choke. “Yeah?” she whispered. </p><p>Where he sat, pale white dribbled through the blinds, cascading over the comforter and parts of his chest, shoulders, and face. The greys of his hair reflected moonlight at her too—some kind of beacon guiding her to a safe shore. </p><p>“Are you alright?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Gustave let loose a yawn mixed with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep but then I woke up and saw your message,” he said while he began to flick the blankets back from his body. Taina took another quick chug of water then made her way over to the bed. Gustave rose into a shaky, compromised stand before her. “You’re certain you’re alright?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m fine.”</p><p>“<em>Très bien</em>,” he said, voice lower, thicker, than normal. “Do you want me to leave then?”</p><p>“No.” Taina’s hands knotted in the loose hem of the grey t-shirt draping over his hips. The thin cotton scratched at the skin between her tightly clenched fingers. Just in case he dared to defy her. “That’s the last thing I want.”</p><p>Gustave cradled his forehead to hers in response, their noses skimming along each other. His arms looped around her waist, urging her ever so slightly closer. Taina let her eyes flutter shut just as his parted lips, hot and wet, feathered against hers. She felt his breaths hitting her face. The faint scent of mint—mouthwash, toothpaste, something—danced over her cheeks; his exhales filled her awaiting mouth. Even then she felt set to die by asphyxiation. If not anticipation. </p><p>All of it set her thoughts and desires ablaze—fire and gasoline and fireworks, a beautiful catastrophe—until she couldn’t take it any longer. </p><p>“Gustave, love me,” she whispered, voice breaking on the razor’s edge. “Please.”</p><p>At her plea, he took her lips in his with a tender kiss. She kissed him back, lips parted, granting him full access and allowing his tongue to sweep along hers. A whimper squeaked free of her throat. Taina released the fistfuls she had of his shirt and slipped one hand up the back of Gustave’s shirt while the other journeyed under the front. Over his abs. Palming his pectoral muscle sprinkled with chest hairs. His skin, scalding under her touch. Taina broke away from his mouth and migrated to the side of his neck. Open mouth kisses, all down the side of his throat, against his carotid artery, his pulse hammering on her sensitive lips. Gustave pulled away, hand cupping her cheek, and he kissed her once more. Their mouths collided with force, enough force to leave her slanted backwards, her weight secured only by his hand braced against her back. Her hands sought security. His shoulder, his torso, his clothes—anything to keep her from falling while gravity heaved on her body. </p><p>Instead Gustave eased her into an upright stand. And then out of nowhere, he let her go and broke away. </p><p>Miffed, Taina opened her mouth to scoff and protest with a glare. But he only reached up to grab the collar of his shirt and tear it over his head. It pattered against the hardwood floor. His hands gripped onto her hips, drifting up her waist. He lifted the tank top clinging to her body up and over her head to remove it.</p><p>Gustave returned his lips to hers before he grabbed hold of her body and lifted her into his arms. The sudden movement dizzied her brain. Taina wrapped her thighs around his waist, and she held fast to him. Her fingers knotted through his hair, clenching in the strands, easing his head back so she could press her tongue deeper into his mouth. Their frantic breaths, like shrieks in the silence of the darkness. Deafening, ear splitting. </p><p>Gustave laid her down on the bed and then crawled on top of her. The uneven gatherings of sheets and blankets, like a series of hills and valleys, nudged into her spine. Unnoticeable to her senses—too busy focusing on Gustave’s teeth gently nibbling at her bottom lip. Taina sighed, eyelids wrenching together. Her trembling hands shoved the waistband of his sweats and boxers down past his hips. He moved his kisses to her cheek and then along the edge of her jaw then down her throat. Her eyes flickered open. The ceiling, dotted with spackle and coated in shadows, filled the expanse of her vision. Taina felt Gustave move. He finished the job of removing his pants, all the while never ceasing the trail of kisses over her protruding right collarbone. Down her sternum. Between her breasts, tongue dancing along her skin all the way down to the tip of the deep V of her bralette, his kisses not even stopping at the lace covering the bottom of her rib cage. He migrated down to her stomach, brushing the skin above her belly button with his lips before sitting up. His fingers hooked over the thin edge of her skin-tight stretch pants and teased them down, her underwear peeling away with them. She maneuvered to let the waistband slip past her hips. A team effort. Sitting up. Legs, kicking until the fabric peeled from her calves.</p><p><em>Piece of shit</em>, she cursed to herself. Lord knew she didn’t have the patience for that.</p><p>Legs free, she stripped the article of clothing out of Gustave’s lax grip and lobbed the item across the room. Deriving satisfaction from the soft <em>whomp</em> against what she wagered was one of the closed closet doors. Taina lunged forward, capturing Gustave’s face between both of her hands, and claimed his mouth, lips colliding. His hand settled at the base of her neck, thumb skating along the soft curve of her cheek. He then broke away, scrubbing his lips against hers one more time.</p><p>“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispered, and his hand drifted down her chest, urging her to lie back down.</p><p>Taina nodded and obliged his nudging touch, lowering herself back down onto the mattress. A landscape of ceiling filled her vision once more. Gustave leaned down to press another kiss to her stomach while his hands curled around her knees and gently spread her legs apart. He gave the inside of her left thigh a kiss, gently sucking on the skin there, before taking her. Between her legs, he kissed her body, capturing her between his lips, tongue stroking against her clit. Taina’s mouth fell open. A piercing gasp slipped out, and she had to slap her hand over her mouth to stifle the violent groan pursuing it. Her body already began convulsing, and her hips squirmed against his hungry mouth. Left hand still silencing herself, her other hand played with his hair. Fingers, combing through the strands. Her palm, pushing falling tufts back from his forehead. A distraction—something to fasten her to reality.</p><p>Her eyes clamped shut. Both to fully imbibe in the pleasure and because, despite being no novice, she struggled to see straight. A shriek swelled from the depths of her throat. </p><p>And just as she managed to quell the noise, Gustave slipped a finger inside her. Taina shuddered. Her hand snapped from her mouth and clenched onto his shoulder. “<em>Meu Deus!</em>”</p><p>He briefly paused to ask, “Okay?” </p><p>“<em>Uh-huh</em>,” she sighed. </p><p>Gustave chuckled at the ardent response. Taina heard none of it though; a void inundated her ears, and any sense of sound drowned with it. Except the noise of her own stabbing breaths as he returned his mouth to her body. A second finger entered, in and out and in again. Both fingers and tongue, working her body over until she approached the breaking point. </p><p>Palm over her gaping mouth, she stifled herself—the sole method to keep the cry of his name captured on her tongue. Her fingertips and nails rammed into the muscles of his shoulder. Taina let him go and wrenched a handful of the blankets instead, clenching and pulling. Back arching against the bed, head thrown back, moaning. Every muscle flexing, contracting. Her body thrashed with the intense orgasm before she collapsed, still twitching, back onto the mattress. </p><p>Taina’s hand moved from her mouth, scrubbing up her face to wipe away the sweat and brush the hair out of her face. Breaths running rampant between small, residual whimpers.</p><p>Gustave placed another kiss there, long and slow—drinking from her, before shifting back up to the crest of her pelvis. Then to her stomach. All the way back up her body, a meandering path of pecks journeying to her cheek while his thumb massaged the outside of her right thigh.</p><p>“Gustave,” Taina whispered just as he landed a kiss behind her ear.</p><p>He backed away, abandoning any displays of affection, and stared at her, vigilant. “<em>Oui?</em>”</p><p>The air exuded a never-ending starved longing, and she could taste it with every swallow. Taina reached up. Shaking fingers swiped through the strands of silver hair framing his eyes. Her own request echoed through her blank mind.</p><p>
  <em>Love me.</em>
</p><p>She smirked, hand curling around the back of his head, and forced him closer until their mouths collided. Gustave lowered himself, their bodies flush together, before rupturing their kiss. Instead, he brushed the tip of his nose against hers and smiled. His gaze, it pierced through her eyes. Too dark—diluted moon beams and a harsh greenish glow from her alarm clock, all of it insufficient to see anything concrete, anything physical. No need, she could sense it all, palpable: desire, lust, faith—</p><p><em>‘Taina, I—</em>’</p><p>That gaze, it engulfed her in a black velvet cloud while she gazed back. Eyes not for a single moment straying, they stared while he pushed himself into her. Slow and blissfully torturous. Ecstasy-inducing.</p><p>Taina’s entire body quivered. Gustave groaned, the tune, his breath, like a wave breaking and spilling across her face..</p><p>Her eyes fell shut. A wince of pleasure through his steady and deep thrusts. Taina bit down on her lower lip to hush the sounds of her own carnal gratification. Just the sound of their ragged breaths and their bodies colliding together. The flesh of her mouth, barely aching amidst the rush of chemicals—more than just adrenaline. </p><p>He shifted his arm, moving to take hold of her wrist instead. While running a trail of blazing kisses down her jawline, Gustave found her other hand. He held her arms above her head against the mattress, dipping underneath one of the pillows. Pinning her.</p><p>Completely powerless.</p><p>Trapped.</p><p>Taina’s eyes tore open. She glanced at the window—the blinds, half open. Nature’s navy-black canvas mostly obscured, but still she stared, grasping at straws to stay in control, and tried counting the stars she couldn’t see. Lightheadedness hit her at once, foaming the gut and numbing the senses. Her lungs in her chest surrendered their ability to intake air. Taina bit down harder on her lip, desperate to stay calm.</p><p>Gustave wove his fingers between hers and kissed her cheek. “<em>Je t’aime</em>,” he whispered into her ear.</p><p>A thousand volts of electricity ran through her body from her head to her toes. Taina tilted her face to meet his. Noses touching, eyes locked. Every breath, absent. Gustave stared down into her eyes. Apprehensive for some kind of response. And yet, she had none. Her eyes scanned his face for any traces of a lie she knew she’d never find because it didn't exist.</p><p>Taina twitched, shooting up, enough for her lips to steal his.</p><p>Kissing her back, Gustave accelerated his pace, rocking into her harder and faster each time. Her hands clenched in his, gripping him tighter, with each pang of pleasure that ripped through her body.</p><p><em>Don’t say it</em>, she thought, pleaded.</p><p>Of him.</p><p>Of herself.</p><p>Bright white memories flashed behind her eyes—thinning the veil of consciousness, casting aside any grounding in the moment.</p><p>‘<em>Taina, I—</em>’</p><p><em>‘Am I falling—</em>’</p><p>Despite all those thoughts streaming through her swamped mind at a thousand miles per hour, another much more intrinsic one one materialized. Born from the maelstrom. It mauled the walls of her subconscious, demanding to be heard. <em>Again</em>. Begging to the beat of her enraptured heart. <em>Again. Again. Again. </em>Lips parting, mouth wide open, she uttered nothing. Only unstable strings of air. Nowhere near enough oxygen to keep those thoughts straight. Gustave kissed her again, his tongue exploring her mouth. Too brief. Never enough.</p><p>“<em>Je t’aime</em>,” he whispered again, as if her thoughts were broadcasted to his mind. The rockiness of his voice punctured her restraint. Spurring her hyper-sensitive body into overdrive.</p><p><em>Don’t think it</em>, she told herself.</p><p>Their fingers locked tighter together to the point of a dull ache, but he never let her go as he made love to her. And she never wanted him to. Surrendering to a riptide in passion’s sea—she couldn’t take it. A low moan burst from deep within her, holding onto his hands even harder, and she let herself lose control over any and all things. <em>Eu também te amo.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope this chapter wasn’t too terrible and that you guys at least somewhat enjoyed it. Thank you all as always. For reading, for commenting, for the kudos. Thank you! Have a good day/ night and talk to y’all next week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Retrograde</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The stale stench of sweat infected every molecule of air occupying the gymnasium, making all the sharp, frenetic breaths Taina had to take all the worse. Whomping artificial bass from whatever EDM song played on her MP3 player blasted. Slicing through her ears. Stabbing deep to the the core of her brain, breeding a dull ache. The force of the noise rattled her earbuds, muddying the sound with crackles and pops. She forced herself to blink and swallow the saliva pooling in her mouth. In it, the taste of blood.</p>
<p>An arm flittered haphazardly through the air in her peripheral vision, seizing her attention. Taina peered left. Her pace unwavering, she continued sprinting on the treadmill.</p>
<p>Emmanuelle stood with a small lavender-coloured gym bag dangling from her shoulder. Brown hair all captured in a fresh bun like it had been before either of them arrived. All strands perfectly in their place. Emma smiled and sent a mild, toned down wave at Taina, fingers wriggling. On her way to R&amp;D to meet Elena, Taina assumed. She waved back—more a flop of the hand than anything else and briefly watched her take her leave. Emma waved goodbye to someone else on her walk towards the exit.</p>
<p>Taina faced forward once more and let her eyes glaze over. Detached, obscuring her surroundings and the sight before her—a pale, cornflower blue sky and bounding hills of verdant grass, shrubs, and saplings—into nothingness. Just blobs of shades and tones like water cascading over a fresh painting. All a blur.</p>
<p>She still hadn’t told Emmanuelle... about anything, really.</p>
<p><em>Probably a moot point anyways.</em> She had a nagging feeling that Emmanuelle already knew everything there was to tell her. That and who knew how long it would matter anyways? Why take all the extra time to inform her on something that in the long run seemed fated not to last. Ephemeral, heartbreaking blips in each other’s lives. She never particularly subscribed to fatalism, but to think otherwise seemed foolish. Taina kept that pessimism to herself though. She didn’t want to rain on Gustave’s parade or question his beliefs, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she just wanted to indulge in the present instead of hurtling through it and hastening its demise.</p>
<p>Either way, time would tell.</p>
<p>Groaning, Taina whacked a hand against the dial to flick it down to zero. The treadmill moaned underfoot at the abrupt slow. She hopped off and used her wrist to wipe away the perspiration coating her forehead. The accelerated rate of her heart thrashed blood through each artery and vessel, and heat radiated from her skin like a furnace. She picked up her gym bag. Chugging back the acidic, blue raspberry flavoured beverage in her water bottle, the search for a novel distraction began. Meandering through people and towering equipment. Eyes, analyzing everything along the hunt. It didn’t matter what—as long as it commanded her mind and snuffed out every ounce of her body’s energy at the wick, it pleased her.</p>
<p>Whatever it took to pass out later in the night. Whatever helped her survive tomorrow.</p>
<p>Tomorrow; Tuesday. A culmination of the endless weeks of strife—h<span class="Apple-converted-space">er final meeting with Harry. Hopefully.</span></p>
<p>The gym seemed packed, too lively, for a Monday afternoon. Crowded with people—Frost, Valkyrie, and Clash all mounted on cycling machines; Tachanka bench pressing while Glaz spotted him. The cacophony of metallic clanks and whirring gnawed on her sense of sanity, and it feasted well. Even the slightly less than frequent fliers: Thatcher lifting weights, Montagne doing some kind of ab workout on the floor with a medicine ball. The Program surely factored into the sudden population spike. Members of Team Rainbow having <em>healthy</em> competitions amongst one another? Nothing new about that, but actually putting something on the line? That changed things—drastically. Everyone was set on winning, all used to winning. Including her.</p>
<p>Taina found one of the fly machines vacant. <em>Good enough.</em></p>
<p>She threw her head back again to chug another mouthful of water—a movement so savage a head rush mauled her, turned the outer corners of her vision into glaring bright white. Eyelids pinching together to combat the invasion of light, her vision refocused.</p>
<p>Dokkaebi—behind the same pec deck. Hunching over, one hand gripped onto her bent knee while her other hand reached out, index finger pointing to help calculate a total for the weight stack. The woman suddenly peered up at Taina through the edges of her glasses and the fringes of her bangs. Her eyes bulged like they could pop out of their sockets at any given moment.</p>
<p>Grace shrunk back and shot into a stand at the sight of her. Almost as immediately, Dokkaebi veered to the left and fled.</p>
<p>Taina rolled her eyes. Even though striking fear into the hearts of every man and woman was very much her bread and butter, the ease really sucked the fun out of it. Way too easy.</p>
<p>And she was trying to be a <em>little</em> better.</p>
<p>“Dokkaebi!” Taina called out.</p>
<p>Grace tensed. Hesitation hijacked the woman’s movements—all the time in the world spent on pivoting back around and facing Taina. Dokkaebi’s hands fiddled with the white strings of her cropped grey sweatshirt. The piece of clothing, casual, loose around her upper body, swooshed with her movements.</p>
<p>Taina gestured at the pec deck with her empty hand. “It’s all yours.”</p>
<p>Dokkaebi stared at her, paralyzed. A doubtful expression tainted her face—pinching at her pale lips, sending her thin eyebrows flicking up—like she feared being pranked. <em>As if I have the time for that.</em></p>
<p>Taina jostled the strap of her gym bag, hitching it higher up her shoulder, and resumed the search. This time deviating towards the far corner of the gym. In absence of a full-on ring, crimson mats had been permanently laid out, and upon them were Sledge and Pulse in the midst of some kind of match. Sparring. Grappling with each other. Taina strolled over and parked herself next to Mute, who observed the controlled havoc while standing at the very edge of the mat.</p>
<p><em>Thump</em>—Taina loudly dropped her gym bag onto the floor as part of her declaration.</p>
<p>“I’ll take the winner.”</p>
<p>“No!” the two men shouted in synch, their hands whacking at one another’s.</p>
<p>“Don’t be a bunch of cowards, boys,” she cooed, mocking.</p>
<p>Taina crossed her arms over her chest, stance stilted to one side, evaluating each of their moves. Strikes, deflections, blows, blocks. Seamus took a rampant swing at Pulse with a feeble fist. ‘<em>That’s a mistake</em>,’ she noted. Uncontrolled and excess force left him compromised. And Jack took advantage. He lunged, using his arm to force Seamus into a chokehold. The two crashed onto the red mats together. Beside her, Mark sighed and shook his head at the costly mistake his SAS teammate had made. Seamus thrashed around—a measly attempt to break free. Futile. Two seconds later, he smacked his hand on the mat three times in surrender. Their grunting ceased only to be replaced with heavy panting. Jack hopped up and held out his hand to aid Seamus in standing.</p>
<p>Taina strolled onto the mat, and both men simultaneously walked away.</p>
<p>“Pulse!”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>Taina rolled her eyes. She turned to face Sledge and Mute, still loitering at the edge of the mats. “<em>Seamus.</em>”</p>
<p>Sledge shook his head and worked his fingers along the muscles of his neck at what was likely a dull ache from being incapacitated.</p>
<p>Hands balled into fists, she placed them on her hips. “Come on, <em>palhaço</em>,” Taina called out, intentionally elevating her voice to a shout.</p>
<p>Stragglers gathered around the makeshift ring. Bystanders. They deserved a show, didn’t they? Thatcher approached, dumbbells still in either hand. Valkyrie and Maestro gravitated in their direction as they walked by. Causing a scene was never the intention—she blamed the anxiety seeded deep within her. But as always, it fuelled her, goaded her into never ever backing down.</p>
<p>“You don’t fight fair,” Seamus said.</p>
<p>“Excuse me?” she snapped. The very accusation sent the blood in her veins boiling. “How do I not fight fair?”</p>
<p>She swallowed the inventory of swears lining up on her tongue, begging to be let loose and wage war. When he offered no response, she nodded. Not the first time she’d called that bullshit. <em>Blah, blah, blah, something about hitting women.</em> She wasn’t sure why they got so up in arms about potentially laying hits on her—something not often achieved to begin with, and she had tolerated a large number of hits in her lifetime. Tolerance only grew. Taina rifled a glare at Jack that only morphed into an expression of patronization.</p>
<p>“Pulse, we’re on the same team for the tournament, and you’re letting the team down,” she said with an fraudulent heartiness spiking through her words, riding the tone of her voice.</p>
<p>“Whatever,” Pulse mumbled while sliding his arms into the sleeves of his sweater.</p>
<p>“The whole point of training is to get better, right?” Taina marched to the dead center of the mat and gestured at herself. “Go straight to the superlative—try to best the best, no? I’m not above placing bets as incentive.”</p>
<p>It had been so long since she got to partake in actual hand to hand combat. Between leaving for Bolivia, shredding the skin of her hands against cinder blocks, and generally feeling far too outcasted to be training in the company of any other soul, everything in her itched at the opportunity to train.</p>
<p>To control.</p>
<p>Dominate. <em>God, I miss it.</em></p>
<p>She didn’t normally have to fight this hard for a competitor though. Taina wondered how much that had to do with her current state. Restless—the season of the rambunctious. Perhaps tangible to more than just her.</p>
<p>“Shuhrat!” Taina called out to the man walking by.</p>
<p>Fuze didn’t even slacken his pace at the call of his name, merely settling on turning his head in her general direction. He towelled his expectant face with the hem of his own sweat-covered shirt, blinking twice.</p>
<p>Taina shot him a single, beckoning nod. “<em>Davai</em>.”Her voice, so low it rattled in her throat. Diction, lilting with her best Russian accent for the only bit of Russian she had ever been able to pick up.</p>
<p>The phrase had mileage though—<em>let’s do it.</em></p>
<p>“<em>Nyet</em>,” he shouted.</p>
<p>And then he walked away.</p>
<p>“<em>Seus bostas</em>,” she muttered.</p>
<p>A rapping against the floor mats—footsteps—shouted for her focus. Airy and light. Her gaze shifted from the doors Fuze had exited through to the source of the sound.</p>
<p>Valkyrie stepped across the mat and closer to Taina.</p>
<p>White crop top and ice blue workout pants, Meghan wore a too-serious expression on her determined face of dainty features. Her fingers scrubbed through the blonde strands haloing around her eyes. A mist of exertion slicked her skin; the sweat captured dim maize light and accentuated the thick black lines of her sleeve tattoos encasing her muscled arms.</p>
<p>Taina choked and gagged on a silent laugh. Composing herself required a long moment, and even then—one tiny rascal of a scoff ripped free.</p>
<p>“I’m not fighting you, Valk.”</p>
<p>“What? You think you’re the only one who has training?”</p>
<p>“I think you’re better off trying to have one of your talks with me than you are trying to fight me—that’s what I think,” Taina replied by way of an answer.</p>
<p>Sure, every agency taught their recruits hand to hand combat and self-defence. But there were tiers. And she was confident Meghan was not on the same one as her.</p>
<p>Taina crossed her arms over her chest and banished any expression from her face. “Here, I’ll start. I’m sorry my family matters have for some inexplicable reason <em>disturbed</em> you. I’m also sorry that you’re so insecure you think fighting me right now is in any way a good idea.”</p>
<p>Meghan scoffed and pressed a hand to her bare collarbone, exposed by the tank top skin-tight against her torso. “You’re talking to me about being insecure?”</p>
<p>Taina nodded with an ounce of indifference. Nothing sly. No smile or gasoline to douse over the fire igniting before a growing audience. <em>‘It’s a good thing Doc isn’t here right now</em>,’ Taina thought to herself. He’d be pissed.</p>
<p>She didn’t know how he managed it, but Gustave had done a fairly decent job of keeping her in check. Something he’d never take credit for, but she could see the difference he made. She felt it. What he wouldn’t be pleased about—getting into a cat fight with Meghan like a pair of fifteen year olds bitching at each other for wearing the same colour scheme to the mall. Despite the amount of satisfaction it would provide, getting to lay even a single hit on Valkyrie, even under the guise of training? That would only cause trouble. And there, for certain, would be hell to pay.</p>
<p>Meghan pointed an accusatory finger at Taina. “You’re the one who runs around with face paint on, waving a knife around—”</p>
<p>An ache ripped through Taina’s gums, into the roots of her teeth as they gnashed together. Jaw clenched.</p>
<p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">
    <em>Breathe in.</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p>“—Trying to scare people into taking you seriously.”</p>
<p>The sour and entirely fake fruity taste from her water still clung to her tongue in a thick, slimy layer. A resurgence. Her stomach knotted. The whole time Taina kept her voice noiseless. Her face, static. Letting the comment hang in the air—the shameful particle of truth in it warranted at least that.</p>
<p>
  <em>Breathe out.</em>
</p>
<p>“How is probation, by the way?” Valkyrie lurched two steps closer. “Must be a breeze when the job is a joke to you anyways.”</p>
<p>Taina took her turn to step forward. One solitary step—enough for the tail of her braid to slither like a serpent over the bare skin of her upper back. Her arms unfolded and her hands migrated back to her hips instead. Every nail clawed into the ice grey fabric of her spandex pants, burrowing between threads of the waistband. Unable to help herself, Taina fired back by asking, “Don’t you think if I considered my job a joke I’d have beat you to the ground already?”</p>
<p>“Let’s take a couple steps back, ladies!” Pulse clapped his hands together twice like a schoolteacher quickly losing order over the classroom.</p>
<p>There were more people beholding their madness than Taina thought. All of them mesmerized. Analyzing her potential moves. Wondering which action was going to damn her, which would spell her victory—same as she had done with Sledge and Pulse earlier. <em>Harry is going to have a field day with this.</em></p>
<p>“Try it,” Meghan spat.</p>
<p>Taina's posture drooped. An dull ache wriggled through her shoulder muscle when she hunched over. One head shake, and then all posture straightened like a pin, stiff as a board. Her index and middle fingers rubbed against her throbbing temple. “I’m not wasting my time on this, Valk. Walk away.”</p>
<p>“No! You wanted a fight?” Meghan threw her defined arms out wide, beckoning disaster from the heart of the grappling mats. “<em>Let’s fight.</em>”</p>
<p>Taina remained motionless in her expectation for Meghan to seize any rational thought and change her mind.</p>
<p>An expectation betrayed.</p>
<p>The blonde woman refused to budge. A downright shame; it made Taina feel like she was the one quitting. And she <em>hated</em> quitting. But a brawl the day before finishing her psych evaluation, that could be the death of her everything. Hope. Career. Life as she knew it. Everything. Taina pivoted. Striding back across the compact, sanguine red mats, its plastic finish beaming light into her eyes. Back towards where she had abandoned her gym bag. Mute still stood there in that same spot, fascinated.</p>
<p>Had she ever walked away from a fight before? Perhaps she couldn’t remember, but the answer was sure to be no, right? Not her, not Caveira.</p>
<p>She couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, she was getting better.</p>
<p>
  <em>Thud.</em>
</p>
<p>Meghan shoved at Taina’s left shoulder blade. The force propelled Taina forward, feet briefly stumbling under her.</p>
<p>But she recovered, fast as a viper—and with just as much vengeance. Right hand ready, Taina whirled back around and pounced.</p>
<p>She swiped at Meghan’s arm, still outstretched from giving her a push. Her boney wrist, compressed in Taina’s unforgiving grip.</p>
<p>All a mercurial, singular movement, she pinned Meghan’s arm to her side with one hand and stepped forward. Her other hand gripped onto Valkyrie’s throat. A vice. She felt the breaths snagging in shock within Meghan’s windpipe.</p>
<p>“Walk away before I do something we both regret,” Taina hissed right in her face. Close. Enough to smell something fragrant and floral—sweet pea—from her golden hair. Dangerous and moving. “And it’ll hurt you a lot more than it will hurt me.”</p>
<p>Physically, at least. In every other way...</p>
<p>Taina gave Meghan a diminished shove and released her.</p>
<p>Valkyrie fumbled backwards but quickly regained balance. So many operators had been jammed into the gym, most of whom had formed a semicircle around the mats. And yet, only Meghan’s disorderly inhales and exhales suffocated the silence.</p>
<p>No more chinking metal.</p>
<p>Any chatter or conversation—obliterated by the tension.</p>
<p>Pulse had abandoned any notion of further interference. No stopping a runaway locomotive.</p>
<p>Just a temperamental, vindictive wind ramming against exterior walls and ragged breaths. The ocean of bitterness between the two of them drowned out everything else.</p>
<p>Meghan and Taina exchanged glares. Then Meghan cocked her head to the side, her neck releasing a <em>crack. </em>She raised her two fists into the air. On the balls of her feet. Bouncing, orthodox stance.</p>
<p>“<em>Ladies!</em>” Pulse barked.</p>
<p>Wordlessly, Taina shifted her one foot back, knees bent. A stable but neutral stance. Hands up, palms open.</p>
<p>She was ready.</p>
<p>Meghan threw a straight punch, drawing first blood.</p>
<p>Metaphorically, that is. Taina twitched—a set of calculated micro-movements. Head shifting left. The heel of her hand redirecting the swing. Easy.</p>
<p>“<em>Oi!</em>” Thatcher yelled. “That’s enough!”</p>
<p>Meghan punched a second time, and Taina blocked again with the length of her forearm.</p>
<p>“Stop it!” Seamus shouted from behind Taina. His voice, closer than she had been prepared for.</p>
<p>It saved her from screaming the same thing. Valkyrie had to stop. Taina could practice inside defense and block punches all day. But each attempt gave Meghan another opportunity to play the odds. Another chance to successfully land a hit.</p>
<p>And Taina knew some innate fire could <em>never</em> allow that happen.</p>
<p>“Listen to him, Valk,” she said.</p>
<p>A coldness trickled through her body. In her skin. In her blood. Deeper, to the marrow of her bones. Something was going to happen—and she’d be the one to cause it.</p>
<p>She felt it.</p>
<p>Meghan lunged forward and swung again.</p>
<p>With the heel of Taina’s palm, Meghan’s swing ran errant. Deviating from the aim of her head. Meghan’s own force, throwing her off balance. Her light eyebrows furrowed, and something akin to a grunt floated past her grimacing lips. Vexed leading to frustrated leading to reckless. Just how anyone would want their adversary.</p>
<p>Valkyrie punched again. Left fist.</p>
<p>
  <em>Enough.</em>
</p>
<p>Taina shot out her arm to block. One hand hooked around Meghan’s wrist. Elbow, automatically blocking the blonde's next attempted strike. A move controlling the other woman without her even knowing.</p>
<p>Forethought surrendered to instincts.</p>
<p>A dozen options raced through Taina’s mind—jaw punch, nose punch, throat punch, like on the streets of the favelas. A favoured move in those days. When she could beat the shit out of anyone and then beat the shit out of whomever dared try bringing her to a reckoning. Days bygone.</p>
<p>Taina released Meghan’s wrist only to swing the same arm out and—<em>thump.</em> Taina whacked her in the face with a weak hammer punch. The flesh padding at the bottom of Taina’s fist colliding with her nose.</p>
<p>Meghan yelped, recoiling. Hand immediately snapping to her nose.</p>
<p>Taina blinked. She had to in order to confirm what she saw—blood. Bright and wet. Trickling down to the Cupid’s bow of Meghan’s pink lips. Then she groaned. <em>Merda.</em></p>
<p>A guttural growl edged with hatred killed the silence. Then Meghan suddenly charged at her.</p>
<p>And so did Thatcher, trying to yank Taina away from the heat and diffuse the situation.</p>
<p>Taina’s body ricocheted between their jarring pushes and pulls. Opposing forces which corrupted any equilibrium. And just like that—the floor slipped out from under her.</p>
<p>Her body fell past the edge of the mat, plummeting toward the hard linoleum instead. Only one arm got under her to pad the fall—nowhere near enough. Her head bashed against the flooring. Brain, rattling inside her skull. A hurricane of shouts and yelling, commands and swears, inundated Taina’s ringing ears. Dazzling bright white muted all vision. Blinding. Her eyelids wrenched together—a measly attempt to banish the insanity for a single moment before all hell broke loose.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Ouroboros</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Brought ya some company, Doc!” Mike Baker declared with a criminal amount of enthusiasm in his voice.</p><p>He had lugged both Meghan and Taina the entire way down the hall from the gym to medical bay. And as such, Taina clawed at him the entire time. Her hand, prying at every finger in a vice grip around her bicep to no avail. Nails, delving into his skin. Anything. None of it worked though. Thatcher shifted to shove Valkyrie through the open door’s threshold first. Taina thrashed against Thatcher’s hold—one final attempt to break free, but there was very little middle ground between fucking him up with a kick or a punch to guaranteed freedom and anything more humane and civil. Mike tugged her through the door after him. </p><p>Taina went to yank her arm once again, but her attention deviated.</p><p>Gustave—she laid eyes on him and every one of her muscles became paralyzed.</p><p>Wide eyed, mouth hanging open, he jolted into a stand. The medical stool’s wheels squealed as the seat rolled away from him, deserted. “What the—”</p><p>Gustave blinked three times, rapid, and then everything altered.</p><p>His jaw closed. He pursed his lips. A mildly concealed scowl—one that intensified faint age lines into deepened wrinkles like crevices in the skin and seemed to whiten the shades of grey in his hair into stressed snow white.</p><p>Utter displeasure.</p><p>Without even looking down, Gustave plucked a pair of medical gloves from the open and disembowelled box on his desk, the tips of another pair spilling out the gap. He marched over to the herd of them, and the latex dangled from his clenched fist and fluttered through the air with each heavy step. He paused a few feet in front of Thatcher. His eyes darted to the right and appraised Valkyrie. She stood with her hand pinching her nose. Blood had gushed down her face; two vibrant streams of crimson had crossed over her lips and dribbled down along the curve of her jaw to the tip of her chin. Another droplet fell. Red rain landing on her chest and joining the stain sullying her tank top.</p><p>Taina bit down on the inside of her cheek, eyebrows furrowed.</p><p>Gustave’s gaze hit her next. Analytical, dismayed, but paradoxically soft. </p><p>Shock drilled through her, anxious flutters through her heart—<em>shame</em>, she realized. Unbearable, so she turned her head away. Taina instead stared at the set of hospital beds in perfect arrangement on the far side of the room, covered in cloth more like papier-mâché than actual sheets.</p><p>An odd dread hazed her senses. His stare—she could still feel it on her. </p><p>She clenched and released her right hand, her own palm burning against her frozen fingertips. </p><p>“Okay,” Gustave declared. Taina peered over and saw him place a still-bare hand on Meghan’s shoulder. He escorted her to the vacant chair next to the wall and beside his desk. “Take a seat,” he told her, standing and watching to ensure she did just that.</p><p>Valkyrie sank into the chair, its chrome legs screeching against the floor with the sheer force. </p><p>With Gustave’s back to both her and Thatcher, Taina reached over to Mike’s weathered hand, crooked and winkled and dotted with age spots, and tried once more to wedge her fingers under his grip.</p><p>No longer responsible for holding Meghan back, he shifted toward her and reached over to strip her hand from his. Taina batted at him with a loud <em>slap.</em></p><p>“Hey!” Gustave whirled around and glared at the both of them. </p><p>“Let me go, <em>cabrão</em>!” Taina demanded. </p><p>Thatcher’s grimace pulled the thick and handle bar moustache framing his mouth in different directions. “I’ll let you go when you calm down, you nutter.”</p><p>Gustave groaned and then abruptly he shot his arm out, pointing an index finger at the open door. “Wait outside.” Even though his gaze was levelling her, he added, “Both of you.”</p><p>“Seriously?” Taina uttered.</p><p>Thatcher heaved on Taina’s arm, lugging the rest of her to the door after him. </p><p>“I can wait by myself,” she said, praying Gustave would change his mind, but no such luck. She thrashed around once more. So violent she swore the ball of her shoulder might pop out of its socket. The joints, approaching the threshold of force before tearing, and all that remained—a dull but deep-rooted ache. She shoved at Thatcher next. “I don’t need some elderly chaperone.”</p><p>“Says the notorious flight risk,” Meghan chimed in.</p><p>A broiling blush assaulted Taina’s face. Referring to what—her being a flight risk from medical? Lord knew she had a long history of that. A jab at her going AWOL? Could have been both. The best insults were the ones that land multiple hits. Taina snapped her neck to glare over her shoulder at Valkyrie. To swear, to flip her off, to smack the haughty sneer off her bloody face, to do <em>something</em>. But Gustave sidestepped into her line of sight instead to cut her off and rein her in. He had a frown on his face not far outside the realm of anger. But not just that—he looked upset. Disappointed. Disappointed in her.</p><p>'<em>I hate it</em>,' Taina thought.</p><p>She and Thatcher breached the hallway, and Gustave, stalking after them, halted at the threshold, gripping onto the edge of the door. Then he nodded at Mike. Expectant. “Let her go. It’s fine.”</p><p>Thatcher grunted but obliged, settling for releasing her arm. At that Gustave’s eyes pierced through Taina’s, burning with every passing moment she stared back.</p><p>“She’s not going anywhere,” he stated. Gustave ducked back into the room and banged the door shut behind him.</p><p>Taina flinched despite her best effort to pretend otherwise—and she prayed she wasn’t the only one pretending.</p><p>Silence rang through the hallway. She peered down at her right bicep where finger marks still stained with a paleness between splotches of red. Her palm brushed over the blemish to disperse the blood pooling under her skin and dull the stinging sensation. “Really, dragging me to medical? You going to tattle to Harry on me next?” Taina bit her tongue after that. The last thing she needed was to give Thatcher ideas. Arms crossed over her chest, a default stance, she pivoted and glared at the older man.</p><p>A faded and somewhat ratty grey SAS shirt, sporting fresh sweat stains, draped his upper body. The halogen lights over their heads beamed bright blue-white down on them and highlighted the small miscellaneous scars lining his arms. He scratched at his cheek—shaved some time recently. “There was no need to get your knickers in a twist.”</p><p>“Whatever.”</p><p>“You can’t start wars with everyone.”</p><p><em>Hell yeah I can,</em> the id of her mind shot back. Didn’t mean that she should… Taina jammed her back against the wall opposite the medical bay door. A pleasant coldness seeped into her skin. “I didn’t <em>start</em> anything.”</p><p>“You were egging her on.”</p><p>“That’s bullshit! If I was egging anyone on it was Seamus and Jack. I told her to walk away. She raised fists. She swung first,” Taina said, kicking a foot towards the door, the untied laces of her sneakers flailing with the motion.</p><p>“Are you havin’ a laugh?” Thatcher spat, a hacking noise with evident condemnation. He then commended a lazy march, pacing around and waiting to be relieved from supervision duty. “You had her in a chokehold.”</p><p>“She shoved me from behind— you know what?” Taina raised her hand in the air to cease everything. “Never mind. Don’t talk to me.”</p><p>“Gladly.”</p><p>A charged, bitter silence drifted through the air in the hallway. Ineffable—unjustifiable—rage curdled in her gut like she had devoured some spoiled feast. Taina raised her left hand and leered. Darkened skin. A small hardened mass of red, purple, and brown. Her index finger seemed to throb in pain under mere inspection. Her nails caressed the scab, a quiet clacking noise of resistance. </p><p>In one almost passive moment, she picked the scab off.</p><p>Her body tensed. Adapting to the same, repetitive—almost comforting—pain.</p><p>The scent of rainwater swamped her lungs. Not sure how or exactly where from. Through the poorly insulated windows? Maybe someone had opened a door. Perhaps it was leaking through a crack in the wall for all she knew. Nor would she put it past Hereford base. That earthy scent lined her breaths. She tried to peer down the hall and catch a glimpse of the window from where she stood. Only grey light poured in and caught her eye.</p><p>Giving up, her head dropped. Brown dust and black lint clung to the fabric of her spandex pants from the fall and marred the ice-toned fabric. All down the side of her right leg. She reached down and swatted at her knee—a movement that cleared none of the debris off and only spread it around like tar.</p><p>
  <em>Click.</em>
</p><p>Taina’s head jolted up at the sharp sound. The door creaked open. Eyes catching a flash of blonde hair, she immediately kicked the words out of her mouth before she could reflect on them any further. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Face to face for the first time since, Valkyrie walked out pinching her nose. Tissues dabbed with blots of crimson, stockpiled in her hand. The bun of golden strands near the crown of her head, well on its way to a total collapse, sagged to the left. Chunks of loose hair surrounded her face, skimming down her cheeks. Red stained the ends of occasional pale strands. Meghan gave her a glare riddled with venom and spite. Head shaking, she brushed past Taina and walked away from medical.</p><p>Face painfully deadpanned, Taina watched her leave. A garbled, fragmented laugh broke loose. When both Mike and Gustave shot her quizzical looks, she flung her arms in the air with all the exasperation in the world.</p><p>“<em>Merci</em>,” Gustave said to Thatcher, shooting him a quick smile.</p><p>At that, Mike Baker turned and retreated down the hallway in Meghan’s wake.</p><p>Taina's attention wafted from the two operators strolling further away to Doc—propping the door open with his body, arm stretched out, a gesture to enter. The still-present look of displeasure.</p><p>“Your turn.” Gustave cocked his head to indicate med bay. “Come on.”</p><p>Taina rolled her eyes, but she entered regardless. “I don’t need to be in medical.” A beat, and then the door clicked closed, a safety signal for her to add, “And I <em>really</em> don’t want to talk about it.”</p><p>A lie. Some small part of her did. Not so much in the moment, but it was better than that something inside her slowly counting off, an impending explosion waiting to detonate. </p><p>Gustave stepped over to where she stood. Near both sets of chairs—his wheeled medical stool and the spare metallic arm chair—but neither of them were willing to sit. His thick eyebrows jostled upwards. “You don’t need to be in medical?” He peeled the stained gloves off and tossed them into the trash bin. Attention fixated on her, he reached for another fresh set by memory. </p><p>“No, I don’t. I’m fine.”</p><p>“Your head is bleeding.”</p><p>“<em>My head—</em>” Taina pouted, eyebrows furrowing. How could her head possibly have been bleeding the entire time? The splitting headache had lessened. She tried to pinpoint the implied line between his eyes and her head. Somewhere near her right eye—but she felt nothing. No throbbing. No burning. One hand wafted up to graze her fingertips along her forehead.</p><p>Gustave’s hand snapped out and snatched hers before she made contact with the open wound near her right temple.</p><p>“Well, don’t touch it!”</p><p>His skin against hers, the touch seared her. Their gazed locked for half a second before Gustave let her go. He moved his hand to her shoulder instead and urged her to sit in the vacant patient chair. Her body sunk into the seat, hands automatically gripping onto the curve of the metallic arms, glacier. Goose flesh pimpled the skin of her arms, and she shivered. </p><p>“I also want to make sure you’re not concussed,” Gustave said, and he sat down too. Giving her another once-over, he slipped his left hand into one of the gloves and wriggled his fingers in an attempt to settle the white latex bunching at the tips of his fingers.</p><p>“I’d tell you if I had symptoms.”</p><p>Gustave peered up at her, neither saying nor doing anything else. Just staring. Hard-line doubt.</p><p>“I would!”</p><p>Been there, done that—courtesy of the unyielding foolishness in her youth. She had both done and been through some less than pleasurable things in her teenage years—some as an informant, some not. But possibly the worst set of weeks in her recollections were being concussed. Trying to recover from an invisible injury: a hundred times worse than waiting to get through probation. </p><p>“I still want to clear you,” he said, and he snapped the other glove onto his hand. “You hit your head on the floor?”</p><p>Taina sighed and deviated her gaze—answer enough for him.</p><p>“Do you remember that happening?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Did you lose consciousness?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Any nausea or dizziness?”</p><p>“<em>No.</em>”</p><p>“Have you had any vision problems?” Gustave reached into the breast pocket of his lab coat, which he had slipped on before assessing Valkyrie, and withdrew a wide, silver pen. Instead of shifting to his desk to write something, he raised it to her face and then—<em>click.</em></p><p>A tiny shaft of bright white light lazered into the pupil of her left eye.</p><p>“<em>Ugh!</em>” Her entire body recoiled, left eyelid clamping shut to block out the scorching light, and she batted at his wrist. “I do now!”</p><p>Gustave’s shoulders slumped. He heaved a sigh and pocketed the pen light once more. With a light kick, the stool under him wheeled to the other side of the desk. He doused a cotton ball in some kind of antiseptic and then wheeled back over to her. The only proof of her wound—the severe, burning sting as the astringent liquid flooded across her broken skin. Her body convulsed for a split second. An agonized, hissing breath leaked out between her lips, like a deflating balloon. The high alcohol content shot open her sinuses and burned the inside of her nose.</p><p>“What actually happened?” Gustave asked.</p><p>“You obviously already know what happened.”</p><p>She’d bet her life Valkyrie had already willfully told him the story from front to back and dragged her through the mud. Even if that hadn’t been the case, Doc always insisted on being well informed with whatever wound he was treating. If Meghan hadn’t bore all by choice, he would have inquired her to. </p><p>“I want your version.”</p><p>“<em>Why?</em> People who witnessed the whole damn thing don’t even believe me. I didn’t even want to fight her!”</p><p>Gustave dabbed the cotton ball over her split skin a few more times, and her body rocked every time with discomfort. Gustave withdrew his hand—though not far. Not fully committed. His other hand captured her jaw and kept her perfectly steady for him to scrutinize her. The frown on her face. Her saddened eyes for an iota of a moment before he examined the damage: a circular wound, busted layers of skin now cleaned of blood. </p><p>But that moment was more than enough. Taina leered at a wad of lint on her knee which rested against the inside of his right thigh, and she imagined beating the blush out of her cheeks. </p><p>“And so how did all this conclude with Meghan having a bloody nose?” Gustave asked before disposing of the cotton ball in the trash. </p><p>“Apparently I don’t know how <em>not</em> to be a bitch—”</p><p>“Hey,” Gustave cut her off. “None of that.”</p><p>Taina rolled her eyes before taking a fresh stab at explaining. “I wanted to train with Pulse or Sledge. They were being jerks, so I threw out an open invitation, and then it just spiralled, but Iswear I tried! I tried getting her to back down. I tried walking away. What am I supposed to do? I’m not gonna lay down and let her walk all over me,” she said, voice becoming hoarse and strained.</p><p>“Nor should you,” he said. “But you need to stop letting her get under your skin like that.”</p><p>Even if after everything it became nothing more than an anecdote, some tale to tell, she didn’t think anyone would believe her. She had lost any credence to have her side taken during any kind of he said/she said situation— or she said/she said. She knew that. Especially about getting into a fight. But still... where was the point in trying when no one would believe that she had? That for once in her life she didn’t want to take part in a fight. That she wasn’t being the instigator, left alone with the blame. Other operators wouldn’t. Harry wouldn’t. She wasn’t even sure she really believed it. <em>Doesn't even seem feasible</em>, she thought. Caveira, rejecting a brawl. Changing? Impossible. Not her—a snake for always devouring its tail.</p><p>Taina crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair, entire body slouching. “You say that like it’s the easiest thing in the world.”</p><p>Gustave elicited the feeblest of smiles. One of the rare instances when she had left him at a loss of words. His hand reached out and settled on her leg. A gentle, sympathetic grip, squeezing her thigh. </p><p>“I tried.”</p><p>“I believe you,” Gustave said.</p><p>Taina jostled in her chair. Hands gripping the seat, feet kicking—all to regain proper sitting posture, spine snapping straight as a rod. “And I’m aware that doesn’t make me innocent. I know. I still hit her in the face. I just wish...” She wished a lot of things: that Meghan had heeded her words, or that she had enough strength in her to resist. <em>I wish I were better.</em> Taina brushed aside a few strands of hair that had broke free from her braid. “What did she say?”</p><p>Gustave wheeled over to the other side of his desk once more. The drawers clunked open and he began rummaging around. A classic avoidance move—easily recognizable to her; constantly utilized by her. He pushed himself back until he sat in front of her.</p><p>Then she levelled him with a glare—neck craning, eyes narrowed into slits. Leering him into answering her question.</p><p>“That you’re frustrating,” he replied.</p><p>She scoffed at the audacity, the irony. <em>Bitch.</em> </p><p>Gustave held out an empty hand—a silent but loaded gesture, as if saying <em>I mean…where’s the lie?</em> Which—fair enough, but the the complaint coming from Meghan of all people made her a bit of a specific coloured pot or a kettle—flip a coin. Taina rolled her eyes and rattled her nails against the hollow chrome arm of her chair. “Look not everyone can be perfect like you”</p><p>“I’m far from perfect.”</p><p>“Yeah, right,” she muttered. Intimately acquainted with all seven, she had no struggle finding cardinal vices in others. Pride, envy, gluttony. Avarice. Burning lust and glorious wrath. But if he possessed anything, it was a shade and it was indiscernible to her eyes. The man was practically flawless. Healer, volunteer, selfless. So much goodness. A lone thought prattled through her wasteland of a mind: <em>I’m your only sin. </em></p><p>Taina watched Gustave cut a piece of gauze from its roll with a pair of shiny medical scissors. He folded the thin white fabric in on itself and readied a strip of surgical tape.</p><p>“You’re not putting that on my head,” Taina said. Fact. There’d be no arguing.</p><p>“You can’t walk around with an open wound.”</p><p>“I’m certainly not walking around with a giant bandage on my head, are you kidding me?” The razorblades in her own voice made her swallow. And Gustave’s pointed stare did nothing to help. Taina let her head dangle, attention gravitating to the floor under her feet.</p><p>A shrill squeaking sound stabbed at her eardrums. Wheels, and she heard Gustave’s stool groan under shifting weight. Closer, so near. “What’s going on, Taina?”</p><p>If her gut didn’t feel like it was being punted over and over again, she may have wondered how the managed to always <em>know</em>. Whether she tried to hide it or not, he always knew. She flipped her hand to stare at the small mark on her index finger. The bleeding had stopped. Faint red smeared over her fingerprint, browning. </p><p>“I have a meeting with Harry tomorrow to finish my evaluation.”</p><p>“Oh,“ he said. “You never told me.”</p><p>She stole a glance at him through her lashes—a chance to survey how hurt he was by that fact. Even though he held no expression, face blanker than a fresh canvas, she said, “I’m just trying to ignore it. The more I think about it the worse I make it for myself I find. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“What are you apologizing for?”</p><p>“I’m not…” Taina nearly gagged on her unfinished sentence. “<em>Handling</em> it well.”</p><p><em>Obviously</em>. In case punching Valkyrie in the face wasn’t the clearest indication of that. She may not have gone AWOL again, but getting into a cat-fight with another operator was easily the second worst thing she could have done before a psychological evaluation.</p><p>“That’s not something you need to apologize for,” Gustave said with another smile warming his face. “I just want you to tell me if there’s anything I can do to help you.”</p><p>“No. Just don’t be surprised if you wake up and I’m in your bed panicking.”</p><p>“How about I come to you?” he proposed.</p><p>Taina inclined toward him in her chair, an unexpected smirk dancing on her lips. “You going to bring a whole parade this time?”</p><p>“I didn’t know Elena and Saana were right there!”</p><p>One of the many close calls. Taina knew in the back of her mind they were not as clandestine as they thought they were. Sooner or later, a close call would likely turn into a certain doom if they weren’t careful. Still, the recollection summoned a laugh, and God did it feel good. </p><p>“Tell you what,” he said, “I’ll come to your bedroom at your beck and call if you let me bandage your head.”</p><p>Taina cocked her head to the side, batting innocent eyes at him. “You wouldn’t anyways?”</p><p>He struggled to bite down on his grin, his eyes darting every which way. A poor haggler. She knew she had him. Despite that, Taina ran her fingers along her hair line to jostle the bangs out of the way and clear a path for him. Gustave leaned closer to bandage her up. Close enough for the air she breathed to feel charged and weighted. Heavy. To see his lips <em>just</em> parting. For her to smell him despite the overwhelming chemical stench of his latex gloves. His hands ran along her forehead, sealing the adhesive tape to her skin, warmth permeating.</p><p>Finished, he withdrew himself and leaned back in his seat. Gustave smirked at her next. “<em>Merci</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Obrigada</em>.”</p><p>They exchanged lengthy and sincere looks—the kind that made Taina’s very core vibrate with delight, ardent smiles mirroring each others. </p><p>Hands on her knees, she shoved herself out of the chair and into a stand. A twinge dispersed down her entire right side: her hip, her thigh, her shoulder. Consequential strain. She shook it off on her trudge towards the door. The unmistakable snapping sound of Gustave removing his gloves struck her eardrums. What she didn’t hear though were his brisk footsteps approaching, utterly unaware until he said from directly behind her, “Hey.”</p><p>She halted at the proximity. His voice, low and booming in her ear at the lack of distance.</p><p>Gustave’s arms slipped under hers and around her midsection—a bombardment in the form of physical touch.</p><p>
  <em>What are you doing?</em>
</p><p>The question she almost asked. <em>Almost</em>. But the better part of her mind hushed apprehension to sleep and urged herself to clutch onto the silence—just this once. To abandon resistance and let the moment unfurl.</p><p>Gustave’s chest conformed to the curve of her back when he embraced her tighter, flush, so much so that she swore she could feel his heart pounding against her, the rising and falling as he breathed. He cradled his head in the crook of her neck, his hair tickling her earlobe and the skin of her cheek. His breath tumbled over her right shoulder and down across her collarbone like a waterfall of air. Taina blanketed her left arm over his, her fingertips grazing over the bony ridges of his knuckles. With her right arm, she reached up. In part to hold him closer. In part just to touch him, to flick her fingers through his soft hair. Her eyes zeroed in on the door in front of her—the one she was almost entirely certain Gustave hadn’t locked. The one any other operator or Harry himself could walk in through at any moment.</p><p>Maybe they did make each other reckless. </p><p>Maybe that was the risk she was willing to take, the worthwhile price to pay.</p><p>Gustave nuzzled into her and pressed a delicate kiss to her shoulder. Taina smiled and rested her head against his.</p><p>“You’re too good to me,” she whispered.</p><p>He released a wispy yet rich laugh against her skin.</p><p>The smile on Taina’s lips imploded into something else. A forlorn remembrance. “You’re too good <em>for</em> me.”</p><p>A leaden and broken exhale waltz across her skin next. “<em>Non</em>.”</p><p>She’d had a streak going too. A good girl streak. Unproblematic. Her ‘Don’t Be the Bitch You Are’ streak. She had a plethora of facetious names for it. But in the end, regardless of its name and despite the stumble, it just served as proof that he made her better, made her heart a bit of a better place. By no means good, but better. Evolution. Her pitiful attempt at change. More a radical sloughing of the skin than a metamorphosis. A baptism by fire. <em>Maybe one day,</em> she figured. Someday, perhaps, she’d be good enough. But she wasn’t certain that day was today.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry this one ended on a bit of a sadder note, but ya know... It can't all be sunshine and rainbows and face-punches. Anyways, I just quickly wanted to quickly say omg thank you all so, so much for the 100 kudos. I'm so flattered. I really hope you all enjoyed. I'm going to go cry happy tears now!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Ego</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A faint clicking sound infiltrated Taina’s ears and prodded at her brain, pestering the deep sleep holding her captive though never fully waking her. A door. Gustave re-entered her bedroom, still dressed in the sweatpants and plain black t-shirt he had slept in. Sickly fragments of grey light clawed into the room—the advent of another blustery and gloomy dawn; a quintessential British morning. To say the prospect of relocating to Greece excited her would be an understatement. Gusts outside ploughed into the exterior wall of her room, the whistling howls causing rainfall to spatter hard against the glass and the frame to move and moan. Still, the veil of slumber draped over her.</p>
<p>Even as Gustave took her left hand and fiddled with her fingers, the darkness hung over her head, lingered over her eyes. It was pressure to her forehead that popped the bubble of sleep and awakened her—his soft lips against her skin. A sweet and short kiss above her left eyebrow.</p>
<p>Consciousness settled in like a cloud of dust kicked up in some barren field. Slow, hesitant, but very much plunged into awareness. A fact she kept concealed by maintaining her sleeping position—eyes closed, breaths even, face half-smothered in her pillow. Taina battled to restrain the smirk begging to surface though. Gustave’s fingers trickled along the side of her face and combed away strands of hair that had separated from her braid and dangled over her lips and nose and eyes, tickling the skin.</p>
<p>“<em>Je t’aime</em>,” he whispered.</p>
<p>Gustave snuck another quick kiss to the tips of her fingers and then lowered her hand back onto the bulky pillow supporting her head.</p>
<p>Taina listened, keeping her eyelids clamped together until the sound of Gustave’s retreating footsteps ceased, capped by the door clicking shut once more. ‘<em>It must be early</em>,’ she noted. Him being comfortable leaving her room without any cover or assistance meant that he believed there’d be no one up to catch him. In the clear, Taina’s eyes peeled open—06:05, the alarm clock declared. It took three more blinks to clear away the thick, bleary film impeding her vision. Taina reached up to wipe at her eyes, craving the satisfaction of scratching away and picking off the crusty sleep caked to the inner corners of her eyelids and her lashes. An aim utterly abandoned at what she saw.</p>
<p>A bandage.</p>
<p>Small, fabric, and wrapped tightly around the pad of her left index finger.</p>
<p>No memory existed of picking at it the evening before. A concerning fact—the idea that inflicting and experiencing such torment permeated wholly into the unconscious. Her thumb scrubbed against the bandage. Over the square of cotton caressing the skin, like she swore her eyes deceived her. A blunted ache rippled, but the pain, the scab—untouchable. Protected from herself.</p>
<p>Taina smiled.</p>
<p>Her cell phone vibrated with a text message. She plucked the device and slanted it to steal a glance at the screen. <em>Doc</em>. One long message, a mix of an apology for promising to work out early with Rook and good luck wishes. Rolling over, Taina buried her face in the other pillow, which had a chill clinging to it and still smelled of him. Every limb huddled into a ball underneath the covers, the t-shirt and sweats not sufficient enough without him there to keep her warm. But there was still time before she had to meet with Harry. “Just a few more minutes,” she mumbled to herself, eyelids drooping once again.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Shit!</em>
</p>
<p>Taina rushed down the long hallway in the main administrative building. Resting longer—big ole mistake. Not quite in the realm of tardiness, but she was dipping into the pool of the barely punctual. Round two. Forgoing the so-dubbed presentable clothing she donned last time, Taina settled for her BOPE uniform. Her hands clenched and unclenched, fingers wriggling. Too cold. She rubbed them together but almost as instantly abandoned the process. The stairs would get her blood pumping. She sprinted up them, combat boots beating against the hard tile until she made it to the proper floor.</p>
<p>Harry’s door sat propped open by aid of a wooden door stopper, so she strode over and entered without making any announcement.</p>
<p>“<em>Caralho!</em>”</p>
<p>Taina flinched at the frightening sight before her.</p>
<p>Both Harry and Valkyrie loitered in the center of Harry’s new office. The arrangement, completely different from when Aurelia had occupied it. Less rigid edges and hyper-professionalism. Still classy, but homey. Laidback. The epitome of Harishva Pandey. Meghan’s hands were jammed into the tiny pockets of her torn up acid wash jeans. The only thing more casual than her physical appearance, topped with a grey front knot NASA shirt, was Harry sporting a muted, colour block hoodie of cool blues, slate grey, and black. Taina felt over-dressed.</p>
<p>At the mild look of shock flirting with horror on Taina’s face, Harry said, “I need to know how much of a situation we will all have to address together.”</p>
<p>Retribution emerging—she had been awaiting it.</p>
<p>Harry's flicking hand gestured to the two chairs lined up before his wooden desk. He stepped around Taina to secure the door shut behind her before making a move to his own chair—a cue for both Meghan and Taina to take a seat. They did so without acknowledging the other.</p>
<p>Taina plummeted into hers. Her hands fiddled together in her lap, by default reaching for her left index finger only for her nails to scratch against the fabric bandage that had already began fraying around the edges. That self-destructive tendency, thwarted. Short of alternatives, she stared up at Harry. He adjusted the brown glasses on his face and gazed back at her. The silence, like a set of rough hands coiling around her throat, throttling her and her sanity to death.</p>
<p>Harry said nothing.</p>
<p>Meghan said nothing.</p>
<p>No segue for her to roll with. So she bit the bullet and spit it right back out. “I’ve said it multiple times. I’m not apologizing for saving my brother.”</p>
<p>“I don’t believe that’s what Meghan is seeking,” Harry said.</p>
<p>“I do.” Taina gripped onto the arms of her chair and contorted in her seat to face Meghan, who refused to meet her eyes, but that didn’t stop her. “Do you think I’m thrilled with everything that happened? Do you think that I <em>wanted</em> to fly from the UK to Bolivia and try taking down a cartel that kidnapped my brother? You think I just woke up one morning and went ‘fuck it, let’s jeopardize everything important in my life. Why not?’ <em>I’m pissed.</em> I’m pissed at Policia Federal because where the fuck were they when they sent one of their own alone into a hellfire with no backup plan? You think I wouldn’t have preferred that? I’m so tired and angry that bailing my brother out of trouble is a running gag, but what the hell else am I supposed to do? Let him die? He’s my brother!”</p>
<p>Meghan jostled to redirect her gaze even further from Taina—towards one of Harry’s solid cherry wood bookshelves packed so tightly with leather-bound, gold-leafed books it looked set to erupt. Taina could imagine that old, funky scent the pages would possess. Her nails clawed into the resistant indigo blue leather of her arm chair.</p>
<p>Taina faced Harry once again instead. At least she felt like he actually heard what she was saying. “Believe me, I’m just as pissed as you are. But I’m not sorry.”</p>
<p>Morning dew tainted the air; the grassy, natural scent slithered in on a chilly breeze through Harry’s open office window. Accompanying it, the sound of dozens of birds screeching at each other—a symphony of chaotic cawing that boiled the blood in Taina's veins. Harry placed both elbows up on his desk, fingers interlocked, almost-black eyes unaffected while they studied her. Whatever meagre attempt made to read his blank face left her speechless. Though if she had to guess, his expression said: <em>not good enough.</em> Regardless, she was content to leave it at <em>not good enough</em>... but a sudden, concrete recollection popped into her head—Gustave’s voice lined with a concoction of various emotions. Concern, vexation, disappointment.</p>
<p>‘<em>Why would you go alone?</em>’</p>
<p>With a hindsight of 20/20, she knew it was stupid. Reckless—that word again. She had a plethora of reasons, of which most involved things she struggled admitting to herself:</p>
<p>Who would help her, really? Why would they want to? She never deserved it. Never earned it.</p>
<p>Because her family was her responsibility, her burden, just as they were in her youth, but the only person responsible for her was herself.</p>
<p>Because she panicked.</p>
<p>But the only reason that mattered—that was just her. She was Caveira, and Caveira was Taina Pereira, and no amount of face paint would change that. Nor would any do-overs. A catalogue of gunshot wounds, stabbings, broken bones, and bleedings never had. Hindsight may be 20/20, but her nature was incorrigible.</p>
<p>Lying on her bed half-naked. Inebriated. Crying. Not knowing if Gustave was still breathing. The same way she hadn’t known if João was. Wondering how she was supposed to progress through life in a crueler world of greater consequence. She held the shameful still frame prisoner in her mind, blinding behind her eyes, until it forced her to understand the lesson.</p>
<p>Taina shoved out a shaky breath. “I am sorry the course of action I took and the choices that I made have... negatively impacted you. You and a string of other people. That was never my intent, but it was the unfortunate cost, and I had to take it,” she said, looking over at Meghan once more before returning her focus to Harry. “That’s all you’re getting out of me.”</p>
<p>Harry leaned back in his seat, but the grey chair had little give to it. Evident in its resistant croaking. His hand rested next to the long black recording device on his desk. Taina wondered how many observations it held of her; how much did it know that she didn’t?</p>
<p>Harry shifted to confront Valkyrie. “Meghan. Would you please air some of your grievances?”</p>
<p>Valkyrie fidgeted with the knot of fabric dangling right above her navel like she dreaded speaking. An oddity for her, but eventually she spoke—to Harry and no one else. “It’s just frustrating. A lot of us, especially us women, have worked our asses off to be part of Team Rainbow. We are supposed to be a blacker than black unit. The best of the best—not doing damage control. That reflects negatively on us, on <em>me</em>. Something I had no choice in.”</p>
<p>Harry shot Valkyrie a brief smile secreting a surplus of sympathy. “Perhaps you ought to cease looking at what happened in Bolivia as a black spore on your résumé and instead view it for what it was—a successful multi-agency operation. In Operation Archangel you extracted both a Rainbow/ BOPE agent and a Policia Federal officer. That’s not something to brush off,” he told her with a bit of a thrill in his voice. “It’s a feat.”</p>
<p>“It interfered the Ghosts’ operation,” Meghan snapped, “and Operation Cascade Mountain doesn’t really serve as much of a remedy.”</p>
<p>Taina rolled her eyes. “Your operation didn’t ruin everything. I did. <em>There</em>. Happy? Will that help you sleep at night?”</p>
<p>“I don’t believe that’s helping Ms. Pereira.”</p>
<p>“None of this is,” she stated with unshakable conviction. “We are never going to see eye to eye on this.”</p>
<p>Harry shot out of his chair and into a stand at her words. Taina braced herself for whatever fire and brimstone Harry Pandey may send her way, but instead he strode over to the door of his office and opened it. “Thank you for attending, Ms. Castellano,” he said with a pinched, slightly nasal tone of voice that spelled a transparent fate—this wasn’t over.</p>
<p>Meghan hopped out of her seat with an eagerness Taina only caught out of the corner of her eye and scurried out of Harry’s office with the same vigour. She left behind that floral scent again—something like rose petals. Taina didn’t even hear the door close. Just the scuffles of sneakers across hardwood, Harry returning to his desk chair.</p>
<p>“I’m trying to think of a worse way to start my evaluation,” she mumbled, “but I’ve got nothing.”</p>
<p>He nestled back into his seat. One hand flicked open a drawer while the other plucked one of the four blue pens scattered across his desk. “I could have inquired about the brawl you two got into yesterday.”</p>
<p>Taina caught his sights drift upwards to the scab on her forehead.</p>
<p>“But, if it’s any consolation, that will not be part of your probational evaluation.”</p>
<p>She sighed and relaxed back in her chair.</p>
<p>Harry readied a notebook to write in. Well prepared, he smiled up at her. “You know, we’ve seen each other four times now in the past couple weeks. It’s usually a struggle to even catch up with you annually.”</p>
<p>Had it been that many times? She pursed her lips and shrugged, unsure of what to say. ‘<em>Instability makes you do crazy things.</em>’</p>
<p>“Shall we get started?”</p>
<p>“Yes. We’re in Herefordshire.”</p>
<p>“Correct,” Harry said, smiling. “Although we won’t be doing the Mental Status Exam. Unless you feel it’s necessary…”</p>
<p>“<em>Please, no.</em>”</p>
<p>Harry laughed and dated the top corner of the blank lined paper in his open notebook. “Again, this is just standard. Have you had any suicidal thoughts recently?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Have you had any thoughts of self-harming or violence towards others?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>That question caught her off guard and disrupted the monotony she already felt herself slipping into. A question that should require thought. “Fine?”</p>
<p>“I’m not asking how you're doing. I’m asking how you’re feeling— if you’re feeling anything.”</p>
<p>Her mind prattled off a myriad of flippant replies: annoyed at Meghan, like she wanted to go back to bed, hungry. She peered down at her hands again. Captivating herself as she moved, her thumb danced across the bandage adhered to her skin.</p>
<p>Out of nowhere she became hyper-aware of her own heart begging to do more than just beat.</p>
<p>Taina released a breath, the shell of a laugh. “I don’t know. I feel infinite. Like nothing ever starts or stops; it just— it just is.” Trapped in the vortex of time. Like everything around her continued endlessly, and she hated it. But she kind of loved it. It scared her; it thrilled her. Her head snapped up, and the motion severed her trance. She sent a desperate glance buried under a glare Harry’s way and did all she could to not crumble before him. “Tell me what I’m supposed to say. Please.”</p>
<p>“The truth,” Harry replied. “There are no right or wrong answers. Just the truth.”</p>
<p>
  <em>The truth.</em>
</p>
<p>A torrent ripped through her body from the cold wind, and her entire body jerked with a shiver. Fists clenched, she took a measured breath, trying to sift for the truth in her fading universe of deceit. “I feel… wide awake.”</p>
<p>Harry nodded and made a jot note on his sheet of paper. Taina figured it would be best to not snoop and let whatever he wrote in slanted penmanship go unread despite the words being in full view. The moment dragged while he scribbled. Taina wiped away the clamminess by scrubbing her palms over her knees. Dotting his sentence, he returned his attention to her. “Can you tell me about Operation Archangel?”</p>
<p>Taina cocked her head to the side, a heavy look of disbelief weighing down and distorting every facial feature. “I find it hard to believe you haven’t read the file.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I have, but I want <em>you</em> to tell me about it.”</p>
<p>“What do you want to know?”</p>
<p>“Whatever you’re able to tell me,” Harry said.</p>
<p>Taina threw her arm over the back of her seat and reclined. “Thoughtless Rainbow Operator goes off the grid to save her brother, leaving a trail of death and disorder in her wake.” Like the tagline for some shitty action movie. But she knew that wasn’t what Harry was prodding for. She slumped, letting the facade of levity fade into white. Her arms blanketed along the wide arms of her chair instead. Hands, curving around the edge; nails, wedging up under the studs implanted into the leather. “It’s left its mark.”</p>
<p>“On what?”</p>
<p>“On everything,” she said. Goosebumps draped the skin of her arms, the hairs there sticking up. A looming confession uncaged that constant desire to evade the room. To never face the truth. To run. But she relented. “On me.”</p>
<p>She felt so different. And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still the exact same person, and it was impossible for her to decipher whether that was a good thing or not. Just like every shred of the world around her—the environment, the experience—she simply was. Existing.</p>
<p>Harry rose from his seat and marched over to the southeast corner of his office. The window, high enough to glimpse only the tips of emerald green trees where still-screaming birds hopped branch to branch around each other. Hands interlocked behind his back, he gazed through the glass. “You know, Six wanted you suspended indefinitely. For a moment she figured it would be easiest to simply have you terminated, but she quickly realized how poor of an idea that was. As Valkyrie said, you went AWOL and eliminated a number of high-profile targets in a foreign country, which subsequently interfered with another Special Force’s long-term operation. I know and understand that you had your reasons, but I’m sure you can also sympathize with the position that put Rainbow in.” Harry tugged down the double hung window and flicked the latch to secure the glass in place and seal out the cold air—something given his sweater and jeans likely didn’t affect him.</p>
<p>Taina smiled in appreciation.</p>
<p>Harry gave her a nod in return before meandering back to his desk chair, spinning it to face him. “I tried to talk her out of any longterm suspension, but by then it was no longer relevant to her.”</p>
<p>“Why?” she asked. “Why do that?”</p>
<p>“Because you are an asset here, Taina. Some would argue you should still be suspended, but I want to believe that some good can come of this. I want this to make you a better operator.”</p>
<p>Half a dozen degrees, diplomas, and certificates in unassuming frames lined the wall to Taina’s left above a short but long wooden drawer. Mostly Oxford. Cambridge as well. A training license above them all like a crowning jewel. Taina’s sight wandered over all of them. Proof of his knowledge and proficiency. His expertise and ability.</p>
<p><em>Fix me</em>, she pleaded of them.</p>
<p>“Rainbow is only as strong as its weakest fragment,” Taina said. “I don’t want to be that weakest link in the chain.”</p>
<p>“I know you don’t, nor do I believe you are.” Harry scratched at his chin, fingers getting lost in his beard demanding for a trim. He reclined in his chair again and twisted the gold wedding on his finger. “Basically, Ms. Pereira, this meeting is a Fitness for Duty evaluation, and it’s a chance for me to answer two questions. The first being whether there is an ongoing psychological problem, and the second being whether you can do your job in a safe, effective manner.”</p>
<p>Taina was already stifling a bitter laugh by point number one. “You never did tell me what’s wrong with me.”</p>
<p>“That’s because I’m not certain,” Harry said quite plainly. In spite of his nonchalant words, he gave a stern and serious nod. A non-verbal cue for Taina to brace herself for whatever may come next. Harry looked down at his own handwritten notes. “You do admittedly display some anti-social tendencies on the field. Not consistently or severe enough for a conclusive diagnosis. You’ve never struggled with financial responsibility from what I can tell. While you’ve not excelled as much as you possibly could have, this is the only formal reprimand in your otherwise thriving employment history. You’ve for the most part been diligent to your training throughout probation and dedicated about returning to work. Your performance in the kill house has showcased your ability to still work with your team as well as alone.”</p>
<p>Harry shrugged.</p>
<p>Taina didn’t think she had ever seen him just <em>shrug</em> like that before. Such an ambivalent response for such a pragmatic man.</p>
<p>He eased the stress off his wheeled grey chair and leaned forward, resuming the elbows on table, fingers interlocked position. But only for a moment. He picked up his own notes, of which there were a lot. The documentation from previous sessions clipped together with a medium-sized shiny, black binder clip. Harry released them. The stack flopped onto the desk, smothering a pen and his recorder, almost knocking over a plain white disposable coffee cup. Harry shrugged again. Stumped. “If I could, I’d diagnose Caveira who works in the field with APD in a way that I couldn’t in good conscience diagnose Taina Pereira.”</p>
<p>A rueful laugh dribbled past her dry lips. “They’re the same person,” she said.</p>
<p>“In some ways,” Harry said. “But in some critical ways they’re not. There are your roles and then there is your identity, and though they are not mutually exclusive, they are not the same.”</p>
<p>Taina fiddled with one of her skull and crossbones earrings, feeling the curves and indentations of both eye sockets. The muscles at the corner of her lips twitched: an overexertion for the sham of a smile she bore.</p>
<p>Pretending to believe him.</p>
<p>Seeing right through it, Harry flashed a genuine smile back at her and pointed an index finger her way, fully engaged and set on persuading her. “Consider this question: who are you? Deep down. When you go to sleep at night. Are you Taina who on occasion has to take the role of Caveira? Or are you Caveira burdened with the role of Taina?”</p>
<p>Saliva pooled in her mouth like she might vomit. A gag reflex—forcing her to swallow. Her tongue scrubbed against the backs of her teeth, against a small pocket of lingering spearmint toothpaste along her gums, and ruptured the sharp menthol taste.</p>
<p>Her jaw clenched. <em>Do not vomit.</em></p>
<p>Harry simply nodded at his own riddle. “It might be something worth asking yourself.”</p>
<p><em>Who is Caveira? </em>A primal darkness, oblivion. A means to an end. The ultimate anti-hero. Chaos. What most would call a curse.</p>
<p>A blessing to some perhaps—to the vigilantes. To the hurt and the helpless.</p>
<p>Was that not who Taina Pereira was? Hurt and helpless. A blank, slit open canvas searching for something to conceal the damage, black and white paint. Because accepting the reality of it all meant waiving all false self-perceptions that kept her sane: fearlessness, imperviousness, the mere idea that she was in control. <em>Lies</em>.</p>
<p>It meant being subject to change—real, meaningful change—and all of its consequences.</p>
<p>It meant being worth loving as much as she was worth fearing.</p>
<p>It meant being born from emotions and born unto chaos.</p>
<p>And she didn’t know how to accept that.</p>
<p>Taina watched Harry continue fiddling with the gold band on his ring finger until she realized he had ceased speaking. And that captured her full focus. She shook her head, not knowing if she was supposed to say something or do something or keep waiting.</p>
<p>“I think deep down you are Taina Pereira and not Caveira,” Harry said. He stated the opinion like they were discussing preferred ice cream flavours. “And that’s by no means a bad thing. You only need learn how to embrace it.”</p>
<p>Taina’s eyes shifted, leading her gaze astray, and her head bobbles switched from side to side to up and down. A baffled nod.</p>
<p>Harry recovered his blue pen and shuffled documents to recover the properly dated sheet of paper. Hand, already on the verge of writing. “As I’ve said before, my concern has always been whether you would be able to work without being overwhelmed by the incidences in Bolivia, and the road to recovery is unachievable without addressing the impact it had.”</p>
<p>Taina nodded, earnest this time. Ready, willing, and—she thought, at least—able to do what it took to rid herself of probation.</p>
<p>“So before we finish up, may I ask how João is doing?”</p>
<p>At the sound of his name, she could so clearly hear his voice playing through her mind. His alive voice from his alive self. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.</p>
<p>“Good,” Taina said, nodding. She didn't even notice the twinges of bittersweetness sewn into her tone of voice, which faltered only slightly. “He sounded good.”</p>
<p>Harry gave her a grand smile back, his bright white teeth in stark comparison to his dark facial hair. He quickly scribbled something else on his sheet of paper. “In case we don’t speak face-to-face in the next few days,” Harry said while finishing off a wordy statement in blue ink, “welcome back, Ms. Pereira.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I swear I never mean for these chapters with Harry to get so... psychoanalytical. But oh well. It's sort of the nature of the character I guess, and it feels like a good way to close out the middle before moving onto the third act. Regardless, I hope you all enjoyed and that you all have a really great week! Thank you!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Phoenix</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two days. Two days left of her probation—not that she was counting or anything...</p><p>Taina’s combats boots plodded against the hollow storage containers of the armoury room inside the kill house. Each step, a wallowing thud. The entire time her thumb mashed the button mechanism of her SPAS-15 over and over and over again—<em>click, click, click, click</em>—only occasionally pulling the foregrip to the pump action position then back to semi-automatic. She strode along the L-shaped arrangement of crates in the nucleus of the room, right next to the bomb, before turning and retracing her steps. The height, a foreign sensation. It slanted her equilibrium and left her balance dangerously off-kilter. She never adjusted to being off the ground, preferring both feet touching the earth. Crouched low, hiding behind objects, not conquering them. The first round of the day, the artificial bombs hadn’t even been turned on yet. Silent, lightless—dead. Her pacing ceased, taking a chance on the moment, and the awful silence swallowed her up. <em>Nope.</em> She resumed her meandering. Lethargic this time. Barely even making any forward progress. Just movement for the sake of sound. A wretched dankness, musty and disgusting, engulfed the basement, a direct result of the day’s rain and the old ground.</p><p>“Hey, Doc?” she said, making sure to call him by his operator name given that they were standing in the middle of the kill house.</p><p>He loitered nearby at a non-suspicious distance readjusting the number of pouches all over his vest before rummaging through the largest one hanging over his left hip, strapped securely to his thigh. Not that anyone else was present with them in the room, but their teammates could resurface at any given moment—and that was the last thing she needed.</p><p>Gustave though...</p><p>“<em>Oui, ma cherié?”</em> he asked, a playful lilt colouring his voice.</p><p>Taina's head snapped 90 degrees to face him so fast the tail of her braid lashed at her cheek. “<em>What is the matter with you?”</em> she hissed with a more bug-eyed look than she cared to admit. Her gaze couldn’t help but shift in the direction near the door to the basement hall.</p><p>With one hand, he snapped the clip of his side pouch back into place and stood back upright, flashing her an enormous smile.</p><p>They had gone over this before. No PDA. She had told him repeatedly, but he did not seem to take her admonition to heart at all. Not even a little bit. At his grin, she masked that horror behind a lethal glare, aided by her face paint and the tone of daggers in her voice. “<em>Stop it</em>.”</p><p>Gustave shook his head at her. “What did you want to ask, Caveira?” </p><p>“Ugh!” Taina grimaced at his equally horrible attempt at casual—more lifeless than a damn Speak &amp; Spell. Slow with an obnoxious and pointed amount of diction in every monotone word. But it mattered little. He strode over and peered up at her with those eyes. So dark and rich and piercing. A smile that he didn’t even seem to noticed toyed with his lips just under the surface; Taina noticed though. Her hands tingled in an autonomic response to the yearning that smouldered within like a pyre. To touch him, to cup his chin in her hand to ensure his eyes never parted from hers. An urge only suppressed but by no means eradicated when she clenched onto the grips of her shotgun. Taina beamed back at him. “Never mind.”</p><p>“I meant to ask,” he said. “How are you going to celebrate being back on full-duty?”</p><p>The horn blasted through the building for the other defenders to enter if they hadn’t already. Taina shifted her SPAS-15 to rest behind her. </p><p>Gustave reached up to grab hold of Taina’s left hand. His latex-covered fingers brushed against her palm, buried under her tactical gloves, but she still felt it. Her entire arm snapped away, wrist clutched to her chest only for her to reach back out and give his hand a tiny whack. </p><p>“<em>Stop. It.</em>” When Gustave didn’t move his hand away, Taina wagged an index finger at him. “You’re gonna lose that hand if you’re not careful.”</p><p>He just rolled his eyes at her and her threat. Taking his his hand back, he gestured to the floor instead. “Well get down from there. The round is about to start.”</p><p>Her head lolled to the side. “But I quite enjoy the view.”</p><p>“There’s a nice view down here too,” he said with a smirk as he peered up at her. </p><p>A long, drawn out sigh dribbled out between her lips, but it did nothing to assuage him. Gustave held his hand out for her to take once more.</p><p>Taina swatted at his palm again the way one whacks at a pestering fly, but he easily evaded her strike. Laughing the entire time. She hopped down off the crates, landing on both feet with a loud <em>thud</em>. The bomb suddenly hissed. Glowing bright orange in the dim light, and the mechanical beeping commenced. Taina made her way towards the rear door leading to the hallway, and she noticed Gustave seemed to follow after her subconsciously. As if abandoning her side was not even a choice. She smirked. “Let’s go into Hereford and light something on fire!”</p><p>Gustave didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe something less criminal?”</p><p>“Lame,” she mumbled, joking—mostly. She had ridden more than enough highs in her youth by committing the less-than-legal. Besides, there were other ways to catch a rush, and she had learned after a while the high rarely compensated for its consequences. “I don’t know. Go to bed early. Sleep in late. Order pizza, maybe.”</p><p>She had been craving brigadeiros lately too. <em>Do I even remember how to make them anymore?</em> Maybe she’s have to find out for sure... for science.</p><p>Taina slipped her knife out of its sheath clinging to her body. She surveyed the detailing of her face paint once more before they got started. “Revel in maybe not feeling like a major fuck up for a day.”</p><p>What did that even feel like? Her mind faltered when she tried to remember. It had been too long without a cloud of disgrace hanging over her head. </p><p>Gustave rubbed a circle on her back with his hand, like a phantom—barely perceptible through her light military vest. “You’re no such thing.”</p><p>Through all the harsh white and black lines, Taina still caught her own smile in the blade of her knife and glared at it. Despite the venom in her eyes, the lifeless, musty air stole any vigour from her words until it was nothing but a whisper. “Either way, you’re welcome to join me.”</p><p>“Happily.”</p><p>Taina nodded.</p><p>Then she lowered her knife and spun, catching Gustave’s wrist in a vice. She shoved him backwards until the both of them bumped into the metal shelf against the wall where he had abandoned his helmet. The shelf’s metal structure groaned on impact. Out of the corner of her eye, Gustave’s helmet wobbled on its curve, like a top about to cross the threshold of balance into instability. His eyes bulged for a millisecond. Body leaning against his, elbow resting on one of the many pouches secured to his vest, she held her knife in the general direction of his neck—of which practically none was visible under the armour encasing him like a turtle’s shell. </p><p>“Now,” she said, “which hand is going?”</p><p>“Neither.” He laughed out the word, breath dancing across her face. Extremely confident. </p><p>With good reason, of course, but she found it fun to pretend. To act like she hadn’t become an unrecognizable, compromised person. Like nothing had happened. </p><p>“I warned you! Left or right? Which hand am I cutting off?”</p><p>“Cav! No! No mutilation allowed!” Mozzie suddenly shouted in a frenzy, having taken two steps into the armoury room. Two steps too many. He pivoted on his heel and bolted back into the room of lockers. “Pulse, do something!”</p><p>Taina watched him flee the room, still not understanding how such a tiny man could be more hyperactive than any child she had ever met <em>ever</em>. Her eyes flickered back to Gustave and the smirk on his pale pink lips. So close she could almost taste him. A pout occupied her own lips for the briefest of moments, but then she leaned back, setting him free, and wedged her knife back into its sheath. “I suppose you can keep your hand this time.”</p><p>“You won’t regret it,” Gustave said. The silkiness of his voice and his words made her shiver, but if asked she would always blame it on the cold. He swiped his helmet from the shelf next to his head. </p><p>“That a promise?”</p><p>“<em>Oui</em>.”</p><p>She smirked, more than willing to hold him to that. “<em>Tchau</em>,” Taina whispered just as raucous, heavy, and squelching footsteps approached. </p><p>Jack rounded the corner from the locker room. “What’s happening now?” Pulse asked with the same manic tone Mozzie had moments earlier while also trying to catch his breath. Pulse moved to pull her away from Doc. “Cav, what are you doing?”</p><p>Taina retreated. No need to go through Jack when a detour through the maintenance room could get her to the briefing room almost as quick. She backtracked over the grey-black mats permanently stained with white bootprints. Paint, she assumed. She always wondered how—probably something stupid. The mats puffed and hissed with every move she made. “Just proving a point,” she said, voice dead flat. Taina executed a quick spin, reclaiming her SPAS-15, and left the two men behind.</p><p>Even all the way in the maintenance room, she could hear Pulse ask through the dead air, “What did you do?”</p><p>Taina helped Mira set up site A before quickly abandoning the rest of the team and making her way up to the second floor. At the head of the stairs, she veered right and ducked into the kids bedroom, immediately shotgunning out the hatch board in case of emergency before switching to her pistol. Wedging herself next to the blue closet cabinet and against the bedroom wall. Crouching. Waiting, Luison ready to fire. Her left hand clenched and unclenched, blood flowing back to her fingertips. Narrowed eyes monitored the wooden barricade diagonal from her, perfectly framed by the bunk beds.</p><p>The attackers had to breach soon—they were losing precious time. But she heard nothing. No sounds of running in the hallways or down the stairs.</p><p>No repelling, no weapon switches. </p><p>No communication.</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>A flurry of gunfire resounded far in the distance out of nowhere. “Pushing from lockers!” Mira shouted over their radio. </p><p>Taina sprinted across the hallway into the office. A room still in pristine condition. She shot out the office hatch to drop into the kitchen, making a daring assumption she’d be alone. A chain reaction of pops sounded off—grenades maybe, but there were too many. Fuze, she realized. Wreaking havoc down below. Always a crushing blow on site.</p><p>“Two in maintenance,” Pulse called out.</p><p>“They’re planting in B,” Doc said next.</p><p>Another flurry of gunshots rang out, and she heard the distinct popping of an artificial frag.</p><p>More intel was required in order to make her next move. She slowed her sprint into a walk, subbing in the Luison once more. “What are we at?”</p><p>The frantic alarm of the bomb’s defusal attacked her ears. </p><p>“Three OPFOR,” Mira said. All three of them, she bet, would be watching the defuser. </p><p>
  <em>Swish.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thud. </em>
</p><p>Movement down the hall. The room above site B.</p><p>Taina took a deep breath and crept down the corridor. Prowling around the corner of the TV room, she saw Ash. Down on one knee. Pointing her assault rifle down the open hatch—completely unaware of her presence. Taina hip-fired a cautious three times.</p><p>
  <em>Clink. Clink. Clink. </em>
</p><p>Ash froze and dropped her rifle. “It’s Cav,” she shouted over her radio.</p><p>A red-alarm. Any opportunity dwindled by the second.Taina rushed over to perform the training equivalent of her interrogation. It was never as fun—just timed manhandling. Footsteps thundered from the basement. She stood over Ash. Counting the seconds to free intel.</p><p>
  <em>Bang!</em>
</p><p>A shot hit Taina’s left arm. <em>Shit.</em> And more gunshots erupted from the wide open hatch. She blindly returned fire through the hole while backing out of view.</p><p>“I’m still pinned in A,” Mira said over the radio. “IQ—maintenance. Fuze is lockers.”</p><p>Taina folded. She hurled an artificial impact grenade down through the hatch then fired her pistol at Ash’s back for one last kill shot while running out of the TV room. She bolted into the room above maintenance for a flank. Gunshots continued sounding off from somewhere else downstairs. Drawing closer. Her bloodless, icy hands switched weapons, readying the SPAS-15 while she ran into the kitchen. She blasted out the hatch in two shots.</p><p>With her pistol, she held the angle, desperate for something—to see movement. To hear footsteps. </p><p>Nothing.</p><p>Taina tossed an artificial grenade down. It exploded with a light, inoffensive popping noise, and she didn’t even bother sticking around to watch where the powder landed. It didn’t matter. The noise could at the very least distract, draw someone out.</p><p>They were running out of time.</p><p>She returned to the doorframe of the kitchen. Able to drop into maintenance, drop down from the tv room, or take the stairs at a moment’s notice. Based on everyone else’s silence, she assumed only the two of them remained. 2v2. She’d clutched worse before. </p><p>The sudden spray of bullets drowned out the frantic beeping of the defuser. Quick. Rapid. Mira’s Vector without a doubt. </p><p>“IQ’s down.” </p><p>Taina rushed over to the TV room once again and peered down the hatch. Mira’s Vector went off again, and Taina could hear Fuze firing back. A perfect distraction. “Just keep firing, Mira,” she mumbled into her radio. Taina leapt down the armoury hatch without a thought, taking in as much of the room as she could. She landed softly on the flooring. Cautious, ducked behind the shelves. Between the boxes she could see a perfect, little murder hole in the wall between armoury and lockers. Pistol ready, she rushed for cover. Over to the storage containers she had only moments ago been prancing over.</p><p>“<em>Merda!</em>” she heard Mira shout. The sound carried through the radio and through the busted up walls of the basement.</p><p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p><p>She knew she was alone. </p><p>Taina sheathed her Luison, fished out her device, and hiding behind the bomb case, began disabling the defuser.</p><p><em>Thud, thud, thud.</em> A scurry of approaching footsteps. </p><p>Still time for a gunfight. Taina lowered the disabler and grabbed her pistol again. Maxim had ceased all movements—he knew she was listening. That she was waiting. And that she was hemorrhaging time.  </p><p>Her pistol clinked as she sheathed it once more. She resumed disabling the defuser. Eyes never straying from the door towards the locker room. Listening. Through the beeping. Through the buzzing of the disabler.</p><p>
  <em>Thud.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thud, thud.</em>
</p><p>Right across from her. Taina tightened her grip on the disabler. </p><p>
  <em>Thud. Thud. </em>
</p><p>On the other side of the bomb. </p><p>Taina hurled the disabler to the mats underfoot. Hands snatching her pistol, and leaned around the defuser to fire at the first thing that moved.</p><p>
  <em>Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bang.</em>
</p><p>Shuhrat shot her once in the shoulder. Not enough to her four shots to his the chest.</p><p>Taina dropped her gun and picked up the disabler again.</p><p> “<em>Blyat!”</em> he shouted, still standing. Not even bothering to play dead. Utterly incensed, he went off, swears and yells echoing hollow from within his helmet. Like his head was stuck in a vacuum chamber. “<em>Eto pizdets!</em> Zis is bullshit vith your tiny gun!”</p><p>“Don’t be so loud next time.”</p><p>The disabler buzzed a final time.</p><p>The bomb’s flashing blue light reverted to its awful pylon orange hue, and the defuser screen turned black. Shuhrat kicked at the box. “<em>Zhizn’ bet meya!”</em></p><p>Taina stood up, making sure to pick up her pistol. If only just to wave it in front of Fuze’s face. “Stop whinging or I’ll shoot you again <em>vith za tiny gun</em>,” she said, mocking the ridiculous complaint.</p><p>Mira rounded the corner. Her hands, eye-grabbing with her bright yellow gloves, shot triumphantly in the air, Vector in hand. Before Taina could even celebrate with her, the kill house’s PA system flicked on with a grating wail of feedback, splitting a headache right through from Taina's ears and into her brain.</p><p>“Excellent work everyone!”</p><p>Harry.</p><p>Taina frowned. Her sights drifted around the corners of the armoury room in search of the speaker in question. As if the inanimate object itself would tell her why Harry was 1) observing them live and 2) making an announcement at all.</p><p>The mic cut in again, blaring. “Caveira, Doc, please meet me at the main doors.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh fuck.</em>
</p><p>Every part of her mind screeched. </p><p>Taina’s wide eyes shifted; that frantic gaze pelted the demolished surroundings. She could sense her teammates watching her resistant departure—to the edge of the chaotic armoury room littered with shrapnel from the walls and from guns, all crunching underfoot with each step, and through the basement corridor. She peered into each of the other rooms on her walk. Where even was Gustave? She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t hear his voice. The pistol in her hand fell naturally into the holster at her thigh. Taina trudged up the first set of stairs while a chilling dread crumbled down on her body, burying her alive. Her boots clunked on every step of the staircase, and when she rounded the corner to ascend the stairs that opened onto the first floor, she saw Doc waiting in the main hallway.</p><p>Their eyes locked. Lips, sealed with nothing to say. At least until she reached the head of the stairs and took a handful of steps to bridge the gap between them.</p><p>“Does he know?” she whispered. <em>Too little, too late to try and be covert now</em>, she thought to herself.</p><p>“How would he?” Gustave replied, and they both commenced a hesitant, trudging march to the front doors. “No one knows.”</p><p>“I think Emma kind of knows.”</p><p>“Emmanuelle wouldn’t say anything though.”</p><p>Every single muscle inside Taina’s body seized up—a dead standstill right by the door to the garage hallway. Drawing ever close to the main door, to Harry. To their comeuppance. Gustave slackened his pace and turn to study her. The blood drained from her face, and for once her hands, her fingers which protruded, exposed, from her gloves, felt warm, clammy. She peered down at the ground. At her hands trembling. At anything but him before a potential confrontation with the end of all things.</p><p>Something outside the kill house rumbled—the pain she could hear coming. Or maybe just the wind. “I’m going to be fired.”</p><p>“No, you won’t,” he said.</p><p>“I’m already on probation! Even though I should have been suspended,” she snapped, arms flailing, trying to make him understand the scope, the magnitude of trouble she’d soon be drowning in if Harry knew about them. “I can’t take another hit!”</p><p>Gustave stepped over to her. His footsteps echoed through the empty hallway. He huddled up close, right next to Taina yet never crossing the barrier of physical touch. “You won’t. Don’t jump to any conclusions. I’m sure it’s fine.” His hand then came to rest on her back, right under the giant white letters spelling BOPE, the tail of her braid getting caught under his palm. He ran his hand over her spine. A quick, so quick it was almost clinical, back and forth motion.</p><p>When she glanced up, she caught him staring down the corridor at the open main entrance.</p><p>Gustave said, “And if it’s not, I’ll take the fall.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Yes,” he said. “If it comes to that, admit to nothing.”</p><p>“No. I’m not letting <em>you</em> take the fall for <em>our... thing.</em>”</p><p>“It’s a fall I can take.” Gustave’s hand gravitated up to her right shoulder and gave her a comforting squeeze. “Come on.”</p><p>Taina nodded. One deep, cold and somehow damp breath in, and she resumed her pace. With the thin layer of water over the flooring, the rubber soles of their footwear squeaked. Gustave strode alongside her, his armour rattling with each shift of his weight. All killing the vengeful white noise mauling her brain. A cloudy sunlight—pale, not warm, but sufficiently bright—poured into the dim kill house from the open door where a pile of annihilated wood lay.</p><p>“Taina?”</p><p>She looked over at Gustave. Clad in the full GIGN uniform, only his eyes remained visible between the balaclava and the helmet. Deep vibrant wells peering right into her. <em>I must look so stupid right now</em>, she realized. Face covered in black and white paint beginning to corrode away from sweat. On many occasions she had imagined their great divide, trying to imagine and prepare how they’d go down in flames, but she had to admit, none of them were this sorry excuse of an image. In the water-logged kill house likely festering with mold. Looking exhausted in their uniforms. His beautiful face concealed. Hers, a masquerade of strength and paint.</p><p>“Hm?” she asked only a few paces from the main doors.</p><p>“<em>Je t’aime</em>.” </p><p>Even though she couldn’t see it, she knew a small smile tried to surface there.</p><p>He had asked her before why she was much more… comfortable with the statement in French. She knew exactly what it meant. He knew she knew what it meant too, but plausible deniability served as a last ditch life-preserver. Anything to save herself from having to respond—to admit—in kind.</p><p>No matter how much a part of her wanted to.</p><p>No matter how true it was. </p><p>She bit down on her lip, natural instinct hijacking her mind.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t think it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t say it.</em>
</p><p>But part of her wondered if she should. <em>How many other chances will I get? Will I even get another chance after this?</em> Before she could even reconsider, they stepped outside together and caught Harry’s attention.</p><p>Another opportunity squandered.</p><p>A light misting of rain was starting to fall—but it never really hit the ground; it dispersed into the air around her. Her breaths. Her skin. Harry nodded at them when they approached. Water droplets speckled the lenses of his glasses. On the shoulders of his sweater, dark spots from rain water. “Ms. Pereira,” Harry said by way of a greeting. “Doctor Kateb. You’re being deployed. The others are already waiting in the briefing room. I’ll be there shortly.”</p><p>Gustave nodded and departed without any delay.</p><p>Taina tried to focus on Harry, but every time her line of sight settled on his face occupied by spectacles and a beard, something tugged her eyes, like the strings on a marionette—possessing her, right back to Gustave as he walked away. The P90, in hand and dangling down at his side. His paces, steady and balanced. He turned, peering over his shoulder at her one last time as a goodbye. </p><p>“Portugal,” Harry said.</p><p>Taina snapped out of the spell that ensnared her. All visible traces of attention zeroed in on him, but she knew her mind was destined to wander. “What about it?”</p><p>“That’s where they’re being deployed.” Harry extended an arm, hand gesturing towards the main building within which Gustave had disappeared, and he said, “Walk with me.”</p><p>Taina nodded and mirrored Harry’s strides. At least she knew where Gustave was going this time. And at least it was nowhere near as far as Colombia. Meaning that waiting for him to get back wouldn’t be as torturous. In theory, at least. She’d still probably get her ass kicked by insomnia again. Have temper tantrums. Become fully enveloped in melancholy. But other than that, it would be fine…</p><p>Gales of wind blew over the uncut grass rippling like verdant waves on a stormy sea. Taina shivered until they entered through the set of double doors, sheltered from nature by the building’s walls. They both paused. Harry removed his glasses and attempted to dry them off with the sleeve of his sweater. Meanwhile, Taina clamped her jaw together to muffle any teeth chattering.</p><p>“I’d like to propose a plan to send you as well,” Harry said, slipping his glasses back on. He flashed a smile hijacked by pearly whites.</p><p>Taina’s eyebrows wrinkled together, perplexed. “I still have two days left of probation though.”</p><p>“Meaning you would technically be under supervision if you went,” he said. “Given that it’s in Portugal, you would be a major asset. We’ve very little intel, which you could also aid in significantly, but there’s no way I can allow you to go unless you are absolutely certain you’re ready.”</p><p>Taina unholstered her pistol. Safety flicked in place, she began unscrewing the custom suppressor from the muzzle. The squeaking, the grinding: a discordant racket pleasant to her ears and hers alone. She knew what that sound meant. Her eyes flickered up to Harry to ensure he got the message being sent too. </p><p>Harry nodded, still smiling, contrary to his arms that crossed over his chest. “I’m taking you at your word. It’s a bit of a trial by fire.”</p><p>Taina’s hand clenched around the attachment. The edge of one of the zip-ties securing the wrapping to the silencer jabbed into her middle finger. “Feed me to the flames,” she said. “I’m ready.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Ascension</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! I'm posting one last bit of fluff before shit hits the fan. I also might post more frequently in this home stretch? How is the once a week going? On the one hand, I want to update more quickly, but on the other hand, there's only nine* chapters left, and if I post them quicker, it'll all be over more quickly, and then what am I supposed to do with myself? I don't know. If you have thoughts, let me know. In the meantime, enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The White Masks had chosen Lisbon, Portugal to strike next. The stop by the briefing room had been, well, brief. Harry escorted Taina the entire way. She stepped through the threshold of the door into the peculiarly silent room. A tight space flooded with stale air. Warm-toned wooden panelled walls and black chairs huddled around a long table. Occupying the number of chairs surrounding that table were Sledge, Valkyrie, Maestro, Buck, Nomad, Smoke, Dokkaebi, Hibana, and Doc, fiddling with his helmet that he had set down in front of him. They all stared at the same hellscape before them—one of the four large projector screens streamed a live feed from some Portuguese news station about the attack on an old architectural palace. No sound, but the burning vehicles, helicopters in the air, and the border of flashing lights sufficed—her brain could fill in the rest. Upon their entrance, every operator, most of them donning casual, every day clothes, spun in their chairs towards Taina and Harry, but with certainty she knew only one of them was actually looking at her.</p><p>Harry rushed around the table to the head of the room, and he picked up a remote, ready to speak before the door even thudded shut behind him.</p><p>Taina quickly sat in the nearest vacant chair and listened. </p><p>“The Necessidades Palace in Lisbon is under siege. The building serves as the headquarters for the Portuguese Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Early reports describe armed assailants dressed in all grey with their faces concealed. Current estimates are thirty attackers,” he said, clicking the button on his remote. A few blurry photos flashed across one of the other screens. White Mask members toting guns and grenades. “We have little to no intel. There are hostages. Eye witnesses reported seeing something—either a bin or large canister. The reports are conflicting. Possibly an explosive, could be a chemical agent. We don’t know. If more information arises, I’ll feed it to you along the way. Questions?”</p><p>They all remained silent.</p><p>“Get suited,” Harry said. “The plane leaves in ten. The Special Operations Group will fly you out to the scene upon arrival.”</p><p>A symphony of chair squeaks went off and all the operators funnelled through the briefing room door. While everyone else rushed around her and down the hall to armour up, Taina looked herself over—arms, shoulders, and legs. Some dust. A couple damp patches. Other than that, a more than suitable uniform to go to war in. She fiddled with her suppressor, fingertips grazing along the fibre material and plastic zips, and she took her time moseying down the quiet and abandoned hall. </p><p>The only sound cutting through the silence: “So much for going to bed early.”</p><p>Right behind her. Taina chuckled and tossed a glance over her right shoulder at a grinning Gustave catching up to her side, helmet tucked under his arm. “And sleeping in.”</p><p>“You’re ready?”</p><p>Taina nodded. Smiling. Feeling like maybe it wasn’t even a lie. She plucked her knife out of its sheath. One last part of the uniform yet to be surveyed. The blade bounced back a somehow cohesive set of lines and shades to form a skull over her face. Still, she figured it was for the best to redo it. Something about flights made her practically narcoleptic, and though the flight to Portugal would be one of the shorter ones, she had a feeling she would only wake up with face paint everywhere except her face anyways.</p><p>A flutter of air sounded from beside her, an unambiguous but hushed laugh.</p><p>Taina lowered her knife and caught Gustave smiling.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“It’s nothing.”</p><p>Her eyes narrowed at him like she could smite with the wrath of God, but despite that she said, “I’ll meet you out there.”</p><p>She made a quick pit stop in the women’s locker room to pack both compacts of face paint and a few tissues before making her way out onto the Hereford tarmac. Various fighter jets, stealth jets, and bombers lined the fringes of each branching runway. Rather than any of those, Taina made her way over to the massive slate grey Airbus swarmed with people and serving as their military transport aircraft. Mild and cool rain loosened the paint caked onto her face, and Taina scrubbed the tissues over her skin to cleanse the black and white away. The ground crew worked frantically to ready the plane. They loaded cargo bins filled with ammunition and grenades and stuns and flashes and emergency kits and other items Taina figured would never be used but probably had to be packed in case. An armourer loaded firearms into a tall navy cabinet of shotguns, SMGs, LMGs, and rifles. Her eyes briefly scanned for her M12 and SPAS-15 before abandoning the idea; the dozens and dozens of gunmetal black firearms gave her too much of a headache. Way more than the effort was worth.</p><p>She reached the front of the plane and ascended up the short, creaky staircase. Like nails on a chalkboard, but worse, higher-pitcher. The whirring of the four propellers whooshed through the entire plane and into her ears same as the awful stench of fuel smothered her.</p><p>Inside the belly of the aircraft too, almost everyone still bustled around. More ground crew secured items inside with straps and clips. Some checked over the small green camouflage helicopter and grey-black SWAT vehicle permanently loaded onto the aircraft. Taina couldn’t remember the last time they were used. Doc, Smoke, Nomad, and Maestro huddled together discussing something. Plans. Strategies. Theories. Dokkaebi had already strapped herself into a random seat and, head down, began working away on her tablet, keeping to herself. Seats lined the exterior walls of the plane, almost all of them still folded up. Taina took a few meandering steps deeper into the aircraft, and she sought so hard to find prime seating that she didn’t even see Sledge approach until he stood right before her, blocking her path. She skidded to a halt.</p><p>“So I get to babysit you on this little outing, huh?” Seamus asked. The iconic SAS gas mask dangled at his side where his fingers curled around the rear straps to secure it. </p><p>“Here’s hoping you were one of those babysitters who left the TV on and walked away.”</p><p>“Oh, I was. Just rubbish,” he said. The rugged smirk on his lips matched his roguish demeanour—lax posture, the unshaven blonde hairs over his chin and cheeks. “That shite doesn’t fly anymore though.”</p><p>Taina nodded. Even though she hated being on a leash, she could handle Seamus because she was certain he knew how to <em>not</em> handle her. Especially considering who her other teammates on this mission were, she could work with Seamus. </p><p>“Do what you do,” he said. “Work as you work. But keep your radio close, and you’re checking in with me <em>a lot</em>.”</p><p>Taina nodded again. “Aye, aye, captain.”</p><p>Seamus shifted out of her way to let her pass. She continued down the metallic, grate-like heart of the plane. Searching eyes found a seat occupied only by a helmet. Easily identifiable as Gustave’s, abandoned. He still stood chatting with the group of operators around him. She flipped down the navy seat next to his lonely helmet, engaging the black straps secured to the ceiling of the cargo plane. Busy hands clipped the red safety straps around her hips and chest until she was securely cradled in the sling seat. Legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles, Taina settled in for a flight that would probably take longer to prep for than the actual airtime would be. </p><p>As take off approached, operators settled into their seats as well. Gustave sat down in the seat on the other of his helmet. One inconspicuous seat between them. He sent her the occasional smile until they were cruising through the air, and he immediately got back out of his seat. “<em>Un moment, ma puce</em>,” he said to her.</p><p>Taina studied his entire form, up and down and over every curve and edge of armour, while he made his way over to the other side of the plane to speak to Buck. Phone down in her lap, she stretched, still sitting sprawled out like an angsty teen. “<em>Un moment, ma puce</em>,” she mimicked to herself, all nasally and immature, in defiance of the tiny smile flickering on her lips. Unheard to anyone over the roar of the plane’s engine. Like she knew what any of it meant. With both Gustave’s and Emmanuelle’s assistance, she had nearly mastered basic verb conjugation, but with a deficient vocabulary, it didn’t help her much in understanding the things Gustave said to her—<em>about</em> her, she was certain. Nor did it make her accent anymore accurate, but that was half the fun.</p><p>Taina glanced over at the helmet beside her. </p><p>Smirking, she stripped the black beret off her head and dropped it on the seat beside her. It settled, slanted against Gustave’s helmet until she stole it next. With both hands, she plopped the too-big helmet over head, immediately hating everything about it; the weight on her neck, the weird obscuring of her vision, the claustrophobic feeling carried with it. “<em>Un moment, ma puce</em>,” she practiced again. Her head bobbled to each syllable with facetious disdain. If he got to say little cutesy French things to her, it was only fair that she got to mock them in return. As soon as he noticed her... Whenever he noticed her.</p><p>If he did, she swore...</p><p>But it took only minutes for the low roaring engine to completely decimate her consciousness, and before that moment came, she fell asleep into the black, and it was over an hour later that a series of sounds awakened her.</p><p>A large bellowing thud, the wheels of the plane hitting land. </p><p>Someone speaking through the overhead radio system, barking commands drowned in garbles and feedback. </p><p>Suspicious snickering. </p><p>
  <em>Click.</em>
</p><p>“Did you do that?”</p><p>“I did not.”</p><p>Her head hung low. So low her chin practically rested on her collarbone, and she figured, based on the shooting pains along the back of her neck, she had been like that a while. Grogginess ensnared her still, and she reached up to scrub her eyes. <em>Thud</em>. “Ow!” The sound vibrated through her brain though only the very faintest of pains rippled through her hand. Her eyes flickered open to find everything oddly hazy. Her custom suppressor protruded from one of the vacant pouches where she would store her spare magazines—right where she had left it. The cell phone had disappeared from her lap. Pins and needles flooded her feet. </p><p>Then she heard Gustave speak again. “I assume she was going to do another unflattering impression of me.”</p><p>Her head snapped up. </p><p>The helmet still on her head wobbled at the spastic movement, the white rim edging in and out of her vision. Both Gustave and Sébastien stood in front of her with their phones in perfect photo-taking position. Yumiko, peering over their shoulders, had one gloved hand over her mouth in a failed attempt to keep her chuckles buried. </p><p>
  <em>Click.</em>
</p><p>“Fuckers!” Taina lunged at Buck and his cellphone. “Give me that—” </p><p>The straps, the belts, every safety measure pounded into her chest. Her own efforts knocked the wind out of her lungs, leaving her wheezing as she catapulted back into her seat. Her head bashed against the interior frame of the aircraft. Gustave’s helmet rattled on her head only to settle slanting thirty degrees to the left. </p><p>“<em>Seus bostas!</em>”</p><p>Hibana laughed even harder as she walked away. Buck followed after her, and Taina swore she heard Sébastien make a comment about blackmail. They strode toward the back of the plane. The rear loading ramp whirred, the mechanics setting off, and lowered toward the runway. Outside, dozens upon dozens of military personnel. Running. Moving. Hauling. Commanding. Ready to get Rainbow into the middle of the crossfire. </p><p>“We’ve already landed?” Taina asked in disbelief.</p><p>Gustave pocketed his phone, and with his other hand he retrieved the BOPE beret from the seat beside her. He flopped the item onto his head. “Shall we switch for the day?”</p><p>Taina tore the helmet off her head and angrily hurled it at Gustave’s chest though only at half velocity. “I hate you.”</p><p>Gustave caught the article with ease, laughing the whole time. He watched her unbuckle herself from the seat and waited until she broke free. After fumbling her way into a stand, they stood face to face. </p><p>“No, you don’t,” Gustave whispered. </p><p>“No.” Taina snatched her beret out of Gustave’s hand and tucked it under her right arm. “I don’t.”</p><p>She fished out her compacts of face paint in a rush to compensate for lost time. She should have known better—there wasn’t a single flight she made it through without nodding off. Next she tore her knife out of its holding. The plane offered little light, but every muscle in her had the general motions memorized. </p><p>Gustave offered out a gloved hand. </p><p>Her eyes danced between his empty palm and the items slowly piling up in her grasp—the knife, one black compact, one white compact. Taina smirked. She extended the out knife to him handle end first. He held it up near her face, flat side facing her, and she flicked open the discs of paint and got busy. Every fingertip—dabbed in pigment, dragging along her skin. She occasionally nudged Gustave’s hand with an extended pinkie finger for him to raise or lower the knife. No matter how engrossed she got in the finishing touch of her uniform, that subconscious hyper-awareness rooted in her gut and branched through every limb. “Stop staring at me,” she mumbled. </p><p>In the corners of her vision, Gustave shifted to glance elsewhere, and not that she saw it, but she knew he was grinning. </p><p>Taina finished by smearing the pad of her pinkie in a circle over the compact of black paint and running it in a straight line from under her nose, over her lips, and down to her chin. The bitter, toxic taste already filled her mouth, reflexes pooling saliva under her tongue. </p><p>Taina scrubbed the excess paint on her fingertips off onto the backs of her forearms. Gustave gave her the knife back, and she wedged it into the sheath, back home. Before she could thank him, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the cell phone she had dropped sometime during the nap. Her eyes locked with his when she reached to take it back.</p><p>“Thank you,” she said. Or she tried saying; the words came out a mere breath. </p><p>Gustave nodded, smiling at her. Passing the helicopter, they strolled towards the rear of the plane where everyone had already either disembarked or assisted in removing gear. “Are you nervous?” Gustave asked. He had already slipped the black balaclava over his face, and he secured the helmet atop his head. It clinked with each adjustment and movement. His fingers plucked at the chin strap, moving it around, until he grew satisfied and secured the clip by his jaw.</p><p>“No.” One aggressive movement, and Taina flicked the drawstrings of her beret out from inside the cap. “Only a little.”</p><p>“You’ll do great,” he said. “You know what you’re doing. Trust that.”</p><p>Some hot, flushing tidal wave crested through her body. A jolt.</p><p>Taina hooked her hand around the inside of Gustave’s bicep, and he came to a complete standstill under the command of her touch—at least until she lugged him away after her. Off to the side. Back a couple steps. Taina wedged herself out of view between the cockpit of the helicopter and the rear of the SWAT vehicle lined up ahead of it, and she dragged Gustave with her. Both of them, safe and away from spying eyes. Taina released his arm, and without a thought, utterly beyond her conscious control, her hand settled on his chest. Along an empty valley in his vest, a rarity, between the paddles and the pouch for his stims. Narrow. Barely enough room. Taina blinked, catching herself. Her hand snapped away. Head down, she studied the culprit, her offending right hand, fingers clenching and unclenching. </p><p>“Taina?”</p><p>Her head popped back up, and Gustave’s sage, warm eyes gazed into hers. Piercing. Ineffably moving. </p><p>She had gone into battles before. Riskier ones. More dire ones for certain. But it was the first time in forever that she felt like she had something more to lose than just herself. Her lips wrenched into a tight line—spellbound and unable to speak. So she clung to her silence and prayed. For him to understand what she couldn’t say. For the heavy silence to speak for her, to convey all the precious things overtaking her. </p><p>“Uhm,” she stammered. “This would be a bad time to say— well, what I haven’t been able to say, right?”</p><p>The blank look in his eyes worried her. Did he even understand the implication? The moment right before going into a mission that could kill one of them was the furthest thing from romance. But at the same time, the moment before going into a mission that could kill one of them could easily end up being her only moment left. Her mouth ran numb, numb and dry. Powerless to speak while bidding her unravelling heart to do the right thing for once. To concede to the nagging, blood-pumping dread that she may never get another opportunity.</p><p>But even after all that time, after she swore she was getting better, she couldn’t bring herself to bow down to a force outside herself. If she was going to do it, it would be of her own accord.</p><p>Still her mind said, <em>but what if...</em></p><p>“I—”</p><p>Breathlessness encased her. Stabbed into her chest and lungs like being locked in an iron maiden. </p><p>“It’s okay,” Gustave whispered, not even sounding slightly off-put. “Don’t worry. Say it when you’re ready, not because you feel like you have to.”</p><p>Something in her sank. Like an anchor buried within the seabed somewhere in the ocean’s deepest depths. If she had her wits about her, she could have easily identified it as disappointment. But then, maybe she did. Maybe it was simply easier to pretend otherwise.</p><p><em>Just blurt it out.</em> Three words, thoughtless. It should be so easy for her—the fearless one, the impulsive one.</p><p>But she was only fearless when it mattered the least; impulsive only when it hurt her the most, and she hated it. </p><p>“I need you to know that just because I’m horrible and can’t say it doesn’t mean that it’s not—” Taina struggled. She fished through the jumbled mess of words and thoughts and feelings in her brain and settled on one: “Real.”</p><p>Over the course of days, it had come to the surface. Visible, almost tangible, but all together incomprehensible. Under demand by the underworld of her consciousness, her left thumb scrubbed against her left index finger. Barely even a scab anymore. Just marginally uneven, darkened skin served as the trace of her own recurring, self-induced physical torment. </p><p>The sirens outside the plane from squad vehicles lining the airport runway; the yelling; the clanks and thuds of cargo upon cargo being moved and shifted and lowered—Taina noticed none of it. </p><p>“Do you understand me?” she asked with a desperate tremor in her voice. The sound of needing, so foreign and unfamiliar out of her mouth—for him to decipher what she was saying without having to say it at all. Taina winced and braced herself. </p><p>The corner of Gustave’s lip twitched upwards in a concealed smile. “<em>Oui.</em>”</p><p>Taina nodded. She slapped the beret onto the crown of her head without a care and took only one spare moment to adjust it, securing it in place. Peering over her shoulder, she found no one. Leaning around the huge boxy SWAT vehicle, people worked away. The coast all clear. Taina gravitated forward and pressed her lips to the thick face shield protecting him. When she backed away, shock still painted Gustave’s face: wide eyes, sagging eyebrows, what appeared to be a gaping mouth under his balaclava that then shifted to a pout like he could curse the barrier separating their mouths to hell. A lip-shaped series of black and white lines stained the polycarbonate visor. Taina chuckled at the trace of herself, hearing him laugh too, and made her way down towards the rear ramp of the aircraft.</p><p>She helped unload what remained in the cargo plane. Every operator took turns filling their tactical backpacks and rummaging through cases of ammunitions, frags, impacts, and flashbangs. Vest loaded with magazines, Taina removed her SPAS-15 from the stash of firearms. She loaded one last magazine of 12 gauges into the shotgun before securing it around her body. Once all the operators had boarded, aided by a few Portuguese Special Forces agents, the helicopter took off into the setting sun towards the day’s hot zone of terrorism.</p><p>Operation Ghost River had commenced.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Operation Ghost River</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! Just a slight disclaimer as we get into the meat and potatoes of R6S in this story… I’m gonna have to ask for a little suspension of disbelief because, man, some aspects of this game do not make sense 1:1 in the real world. (*cough* reinforcements... How do they work!? Where do they come from?!) So there were definitely some creative liberties taken in regards to secondary gadgets, barricades, etc. Also sorry this chapter is so dang long, but I hope you all enjoy regardless. Thanks to everyone reading, to those who have read, and everyone who has commented/left kudos! I appreciate it so much!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Grupo de Operações Especiais’ military helicopter swam through a busy atmosphere; half a dozen news station helicopters swarmed over the Palácio das Necessidades like sharks drawn to the scent of blood. A column of thick, black smoke towered through the air, some ominous beacon—a burning car at the gates of the palace. On approach, Taina surveyed what she could. Harry had sent the blueprints en route to Lisbon, but blueprints only provided flat and static insight into the bones of any structure. It never sufficiently primed for reality. Technical drawings turned to life. Whites and greys and harsh lines became three dimensional, lush architecture. The building’s blush pink façade could captivate anyone, like something out of a fairytale about magic, and princesses, and true love. Pure white ionic columns accented the rich shade. Out front in the square, a still-running water fountain. Cherubs and monsters spat green water out into the reservoir filled with trash and debris and a corpse. An Egyptian obelisk watched over all, protruding from the heart of the water. Beyond the palace, a port busy with ships lined the wide, turquoise waters of the river Tagus. One colossal vermilion-coloured suspension bridge, a doppelgänger to the Golden Gate’s, stretched the expanse of the waterway. Each little aqueous ebb and flow splattered sunlight in every direction like a shattered crystals. That beautiful sunset of incendiary oranges and thin wispy clouds drowned Taina’s vision.</p><p>A backdrop too beautiful for the free world go up in flames, so it was up to Rainbow to put an end to the White Masks’ plan once more.</p><p>They flew approached from the northeast, passing a formal garden cut in diagonal patterns by walking paths backing onto open green fields and a labyrinth obscured by a sea of trees. The helicopter hovered over the palace and slowly descended towards the far west structure with a flat rooftop terrace—much safer compared to the angled terracotta roofs capping the rest of the structure. </p><p>With nowhere to land, GOE officers had already prepped and tossed the thick bundles of lines for them to fast-rope down. Taina despised fast-roping even more than she despised rappelling; there was nothing to save you from plummeting to the ground. No descender or belt—just one’s own burning grip. The heat resistant gloves helped, but the heat was only ever curbed, not eliminated.</p><p>Taina stood next in line on the left side, hands gripping the edge of the open door. The flapping sound of rotor blades whipping through the air at top speed, it was deafening. Brutal. The vibrations rocked her insides; it rattled her ribcage which jostled her lungs. Nomad descended the rope without a moment of hesitation. When Sanaa was halfway to the bottom, a GOE officer gestured for her to go. Taina reached out and clutched the rope with whatever grip she could given the large heat-resistant gloves over her tactical ones.</p><p>Then she leapt.</p><p>Every muscle in her arms ached under the full weight of her body and the force of gravity. Her legs slammed together. The rope, delving into her thighs. Wind whipping at her face, she accelerated down the rope towards the compact surface. Sufficiently near the ground, Taina tightened her grip to slow the descent until her feet softly landed on the roofing. </p><p>Nomad moved north, straying from the rest of the operators huddling around, to crouch down and place a breaching charge on the roof. </p><p>Sledge told the other attackers to breach from the ground and within seconds they began rappelling down the sides of the palace walls. The defenders stood in wait with him. All focused on him—except Valkyrie. Her attention drifted to the large tower on the south side of the terrace housing two rows of different sized bells. Perfect for a black eye camera. </p><p>Nomad rejoined the group and declared, “Breaching charge ready.”</p><p>Sledge nodded. “Where are we getting you to?”</p><p>“First floor,” Maestro said. “There will be more hostages there.”</p><p>“If we secure the server room, Dokk might be able to get more intel to find whatever device they brought,” Smoke added. </p><p>Sledge nodded again. “We’ll split the floors then.” He turned to Nomad next. “Let’s drone out. Blow it.”</p><p>Nomad raised her hand gripping onto the remote and squeezed.</p><p>
  <em>Boom!</em>
</p><p>They both tossed their drones onto the roof and began surveilling the room below their feet. </p><p>Taina looked around, distracted. Impatient. On the other side of the river, a large pillar protruded into the sky crowned by a statue of Jesus Christ with arms outstretched. <em>Like home</em>, she thought. Her mind to flash back to Rio de Janeiro. To home—her actual home instead of just Brazil, and suddenly she was more grateful than ever that she had taken a moment on the brief helicopter flight to send Joao a text. <em>Just in case.</em></p><p>“I’ll anchor in server,” Maestro said. </p><p>“I’ll join you,” Smoke said.</p><p>Gustave nodded at Valkyrie to summon her attention. “Reception or library?”</p><p>Valkyrie’s head snapped down, and she nodded back at Gustave. “Reception.”</p><p>Everyone’s gaze suddenly settled on Taina. Possessing no necessity in the situation or it’s forethought, Taina’s stunned eyes roamed over Gustave’s face for the briefest of moments. She forced herself to meet Valkyrie’s attention instead. “Reception needs more set up. I’ll help before moving out.”</p><p>Everyone nodded.</p><p>“Let’s go!” Sledge yelled. All five defenders converged upon the breached hole in the roof. Nomad leapt down into the opening first. Maestro and Smoke followed after. Once they had cleared the rooftop, Sledge asked, “Where to?”</p><p>“First floor reception,” Gustave said.</p><p>Sledge hopped down the breach hole first, and then Gustave. Valkyrie had her attention back on the tower with its copper oxide bells and the giant clock on its face. 5:42. With Meghan distracted, Taina capitalized on the opening and leapt down the gap without any further delay. A brief rush of air as she fell and then—<em>patter.</em> Her feet landed on a regal but tacky navy and crimson damasked-pattern rug lining the entire stretch of the corridor. </p><p>While Sledge had his L85 fixed down the hallway facing north, Gustave held the up the rear, MP5 ready and waiting to fire. In the close quarters, Taina unholstered her Luison.</p><p>Valkyrie finally joined, hopping down, and landed next to Taina. At the sound, Sledge advanced, leading the way to the stairs. </p><p>Their steps echoed through the narrow and enclosed staircase. Old and empty and haunting. Concrete, nowhere near as fancy and clearly unintended to be seen. At the foot, a barren coat room of rods lined with bent wire hangers tucked away with drink and snack vending machines and rows of stacking stools. </p><p>As Sledge guided the way out of the small semi-enclosed space housing the stairs, everything gaped open.</p><p>The wide main corridor running through most of the main building vanished into the distance. Dozens upon dozens of pearly white gold-trimmed doors corralled them. Some open, some closed. Some neither, ripped away from their hinges or shattered into too many pieces to really be either open or closed. With such space, Taina jammed her pistol back in its holster and subbed in the SPAS-15. The reception room, recalling the blueprints, would be on the south side of the corridor, so she kept her weapon fixed to the weak side as they pressed on.</p><p>It was far too quiet for her liking. Suspiciously placid when they all knew hell was waiting to break loose. </p><p>One of the double doors leading right into the reception hung ajar.</p><p>Sledge balled his hand into a fist—a gesture to hold.</p><p>All four of them sidled against the wall.</p><p>“Cover me,” Seamus whispered.</p><p>He tossed his drone onto the floor once more.</p><p>Taina glanced further down the corridor. Monitoring for any movement, relying on her ears while her eyes adjusted to the blinding luminescent and glinting decor. White marble columns. Pristine pale statues. Window after window after window, the setting sun pouring in. Overwhelming light.</p><p>Distant bangs reverberated through the vast space provided by high vaulted ceilings.</p><p>“All clear.”</p><p>Seamus pocketed his phone, retrieved his L85, and broke into the reception room through the half-open door.</p><p>Taina entered next.</p><p>It all appeared untouched. A medium sized rectangular table occupied the heart of the space, still dressed with a table cloth and topped with gold candelabras and upside down crystal wine glasses. Suspended above the table—a glowing, ornate chandelier dripping crystals like million dollar raindrops. Valkyrie and Doc dashed by Taina and dropped their tactical backpacks to the ground. Taina slipped hers off her shoulders as well, eyes already scanning for optimal placements.</p><p>“Cav,” Sledge said, halfway back out the door. He pointed a gloved finger at her. “<em>Radio</em>.”</p><p>Taina scoffed. Her hand drifted to her left rib cage, flicked on the transmitter system, then she reached up to her shoulder and pressed down the radio’s red button. “Copy that,” she broadcasted to him... to <em>everyone</em>.</p><p>She could barely see his eyes behind the opalescent lenses of his gas mask, but little deduction was required to know they were rolling. She just smirked. </p><p>Seamus exited, and the door bellowed shut behind him. Taina rushed one of the tall, rectangular windows and lowered her backpack onto the floor. Both hands tore the luxury Arabic rose-coloured curtains apart and exposed the dusty, grimy glass underneath. Evaporating sunlight settled on a small courtyard outside filled with greenery and a garden pond. Taina reached into her bag and withdrew a barricade. The securing string clenched in one hand, she yanked. Rows of wooden planks unravelled, and she made quick work bolting the barricade to the window frame. </p><p>A weird sense of déjà vu trickled over her. Muscle memory kicking in, and it ripped a chill through her. Excitement. To the brink of a tremble. She breathed deep, inhaling the reception room’s smokiness masking the odour of oldness. The obvious culprit: a fireplace with an elegant stone mantel. Taina shuffled over to the window on her left and barricaded it next. </p><p>“I’m going to get feeds up,” Valkyrie announced before darting out of the reception room.</p><p>Taina shot a look over her shoulder just as the door closed behind Meghan. Her gaze moved naturally to Gustave next, and Gustave stared back. In his hands—a spool of barbed wire ready to be let loose.</p><p>“All good?” he asked.</p><p>She smiled at him. “All good.”</p><p>Far away gunfire rang—only the beginning, she was certain. </p><p>“I’ll be here if you need help.”</p><p>One hand withdrew the bulletproof camera from her bag. She needed eyes down the main corridor. Especially if she was going to be the one running up and down it all the time. Her heart raced at the idea. Not fear. A thrill, adrenaline. Ready to go.</p><p>Taina sprinted toward the main door of the room.</p><p>“Taina?”</p><p>She halted and whirled back around at his voice. </p><p>Gustave stood, eyes still on her, with the stim gun in his hand. He inserted an orange and blue autoinjector. Preloaded for when an emergency struck next. “Please be safe.”</p><p>Taina nodded. “You too.”</p><p>Bulletproof camera in her left hand and pistol in her right, she left the reception room.</p><p>The corridor—still vacant. She sprinted toward the head of the hallway near the stairs they had previously descended. At the end of the hall, she holstered her pistol to grab hold of the camera on either end. Both thumbs jammed against the red buttons simultaneously.</p><p>
  <em>Whirr.</em>
</p><p>The tiny sound of the device drilling into the wall shattered the silence around her. Secured, one finger flicked the antenna up.</p><p>She ducked around the corner for cover and withdrew her phone to check. Flicking through camera angles. Black eye cameras. Bulletproof cameras. Dokkaebi already had security camera feeds up and running. Chatter filled her ear over the radio: attackers trying to locate whatever device the White Masks had brought in, Smoke declaring he had eliminated a White Mask. </p><p>Taina pocketed her phone and armed herself with her pistol. </p><p>And so the hunt commenced—Caveira was back.</p><p>Her first move, a sprint down the corridor. Observing, listening. </p><p>Footsteps thudded nearby.</p><p>Taina froze in the hallway where the walls expanded into a whole vestibule. Along those walls, busts of historic figures atop pilars; cobalt and white ceramic vases in the niches. Wide and open, branching into different directions. Exposed. </p><p>Spine flush to the nearest wall, she peeked around the corner and found a figure. Grey sweater. Masked face.</p><p>Pistol raised, Taina moved.</p><p>
  <em>Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.</em>
</p><p>The figure screamed and dropped onto the ground, rolling. A rifle fell with him and clattered. The White Mask member, still wailing, stretched out a desperate arm to retrieve the firearm.</p><p>Taina trained her laser sight onto the centre of the empty white face.</p><p><em>Clink. </em>Dead.</p><p>Then she ran.</p><p>“Tango down,” she broadcasted over the radio. Boots pattering along the marble floors, blood pumping a rush through her veins. She peered through semi-opened doors down the corridor. Room after room. Seeking nothing in particular.</p><p>But yelling derailed whatever fragment of an action plan she had.</p><p>Taina stalked the sound to one of the large rectangle doors hung ajar. A door like every other one. Ornate. Gold detailing around it. Above, a gold framed painting.</p><p>Her empty hand wedged the door open further, pistol ready to fire if needed.</p><p>Leaning left and right, she tried to see.</p><p>Empty.</p><p><em>Throne room</em>, she recalled. Deep brown—almost black—wooden armoires, desks, and chairs upholstered with regal reds. Even the walls. Lighter and darker shades of poppy red in consistent, thin stripes. The chandelier spewed light. Its brightness bounced off the burnished ceiling as well as the varnished wood—all showing her nothing but emptiness. </p><p>Of the chatter over the radio, one statement stuck out.</p><p>“I’m ringing them,” Dokkaebi said.</p><p>And just like that. Low. Mechanical. Horribly annoying—</p><p><em>Buzz</em>.</p><p><em>Buzz</em>.</p><p>The other side of the unlatched double doors opening to the next room. Pistol aimed, she advanced.</p><p>“Cav,” Sledge said over the radio, “check in.”</p><p>Her body squeezed sideways through the small gap in the door.</p><p>In the center of the powder blue room, a White Mask terrorist jabbed at his vibrating phone. The sound ceased, and as he moved to exit through the other double doors, she fired.</p><p>
  <em>Clink. Clink. Clink.</em>
</p><p>Taina rushed over to the man floundering on the floor. Her hand moved, automatic. The knife clinging to her, begging to be used—for blood, for answers.</p><p>But the doors on the other side of the dispatch room were open.</p><p>And movement made a hostage of her attention. </p><p>“Oh shit! Man down!”</p><p>“Kill her!”</p><p>Taina tugged on the pistol trigger again and again. Firing through the open door frame as she bolted to the side wall, frantic for cover.</p><p>Her entire body collided with a giant gold framed mirror, leaving it lopsided. Safe out of view—but not for long. Two sets of footsteps thundered her way. Taina readied her shotgun instead.</p><p>“<em>Caveira?</em>” Sledge barked in her ear. </p><p>One thick breath and then she sidestepped into the doorway, hip-firing. </p><p><em>Bang. Bang.</em> Unending shot gun blasts as she maneuvered and leaned. Bullets whizzing past her and overhead the entire time. <em>Bang. Bang.</em></p><p>Both White Masks collapsed in front of her, dead.</p><p>“Check. In,” Sledge repeated with razors in his Scottish voice.</p><p>Taina exhaled, flicking her SPAS-15 up so it pointed to the ceiling while her left hand reached up and activated her radio. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said. One shoulder check to confirm: “Three more down.”</p><p>She released the button of her radio—check-in enough.</p><p>Dozens of dated paintings were embedded into the gold-trimmed ceilings and walls, the religious and mythological subjects marked by chiaroscuro. Light and dark. Cream and aurous beauty now spattered and sprayed with blood.</p><p>“I found five hostages,” Buck said over the comms. </p><p>“Where?” Doc asked.</p><p>Taina listened, taking her time in the Renaissance room. Leaning back against a cool, uneven wall. Clicking loose the magazine from her pistol. It clattered, a ghost of a whisper, on the rug next to her foot. </p><p>“In the chapel,” Buck answered. “I’m going to try escorting them out.”</p><p>“Out where?” Sledge asked.</p><p>There was a moment of silence before Buck replied. “The courtyard doors are right here.”</p><p>“No, don’t!” Valkyrie yelled. “They’re peeking out—”</p><p>
  <em>Boom!</em>
</p><p>Horrific, staticky feedback stabbed into her eardrums through to her brain. Taina winced at the awful hiss. </p><p>“Shit!” Sledge shouted. “Buck! What’s your status?”</p><p>No response.</p><p>“Motherfuckers,” Taina muttered. She plucked a fresh mag from the front of her vest, jammed it into the magazine well, and bolted out of the room. Breaking though the doors, she partially cleared the corridor—vacant—before following its runway of carpet toward the north side of the palace. </p><p>Someone coughed in her ear piece.</p><p>Buck.</p><p>“All clear,” he wheezed. “Nitro cell. Just out of the blast zone. Everyone is alright.”</p><p>Taina heard a number of relieved sighs over the radio. She kept hers to herself. Instead she aimed her pistol towards the area where the chapel was and snatched the radio with her left hand. “Peeking out from where, Valk?”</p><p>“North of the courtyard,” Meghan answered. “Second floor. Writing room window.”</p><p>Taina grimaced. She couldn’t recall exactly where the small room was in the blueprints. North of the courtyard would have to suffice. She darted diagonally across the corridor and into a room with wide open doors, trying to visualize the palace map. The accountants room. It could provide a vantage point. A blank room—lined with the standard chandelier, huge painting, and chairs. Gold accents and luxurious dusty pink drapes.</p><p>One set of double doors on her right opened back into the reception room. Taina could hear Gustave whisper to someone, “Stay down. You’ll be alright.” Another hostage, she assumed. </p><p>“It’s just me,” she called out before he could react to the clamorous footsteps she made no attempt to hush. Taina put her pistol away and whipped out her SPAS-15 once more, cutting through to the other side of the accountant’s room. “Still there, Valk?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Valkyrie said. “He keeps peeking.”</p><p>Never slowing her run, she shotgunned the approaching window, draining her magazine. Reclaiming her pistol, in and out of Doc’s view, she vaulted out the window.</p><p>“Cav, don’t!” Gustave yelled.</p><p>Just another sound lost to the wind.</p><p>Taina raised her Luison to the north windows across the courtyard. Iron sights dancing across all of them. But only one was opened. Both hands securing the grip and eyes attentive, she stalked. </p><p>Stared.</p><p>Waited, vulnerable. </p><p>Breath captured, silenced, and then suddenly—a silhouette moved. Taina shot. Rapid fire. Pistol rocking with each round, and the figure dropped.</p><p>Dead or alive? No way to know.</p><p>But there was a way to guarantee.</p><p>She plucked out an impact grenade. One finger hooked through the metal hoop and yanked out the pin. Then she hurled it across the courtyard and through the open window. </p><p>
  <em>Boom!</em>
</p><p>Taina smirked. She forgot how satisfying vengeance could be. </p><p>Glass shattered somewhere else in the courtyard. And a flurry of gunfire followed.</p><p>Taina scrambled back to the the accountant’s room window, dodging bullet after bullet. She leapt back through it, crashing onto the floor covered in glass and shards of wood. Bullets zipped overhead through the open window. A fact that went ignored. Half-prone, back against the wall below the window frame and head tucked just out of sight, she retrieved her shotgun instead. Thumb depressing the little lever, she set free the dried magazine. It fell against her hip and then to the discoloured hardwood flooring.</p><p>“Both of you escort them here to reception.” Gustave said over the radio. “We’re already planning an evacuation.”</p><p>Taina chanced a glance left.</p><p>Gustave released the button for the radio, but his eyes didn’t leave her. Standing in the threshold between the reception room and the accountant’s room, all he did was shake his head at her.</p><p>A weighty enough gesture. </p><p>“<em>What?</em>” She rammed in another magazine, hooked her index finger around the charging bolt, and tugged. “I got him, didn’t I?”</p><p>Another round of gunshots flew overhead.</p><p>Taina flinched. Not at the bullets. Not at the sound. But the unexpected chill of glass raining down on her. Across the room, two side-by-side vintage wooden desks combusted—shredded to splinters under gunfire.</p><p>A woman in the other room screamed in fear.</p><p>Gustave took cover near the edge of the next window over from Taina. “Where?” he asked, and he smashed the butt end of his MP5 again the bottom panel of glass. It shattered with that one blow.</p><p>“Eleven o’clock. First floor window.”</p><p>He crouched down. Taina watched him train the muzzle of his SMG toward the other side of the courtyard, and he peered through the scope. Seeking. A quick spray, and then he immediately lowered the SMG again. “Clear.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>Taina rolled over and then hopped up into a stand. Glass dribbled off her and clacked along the floor. She shook off what she could. </p><p>“Almost there, Doc,” Hibana announced over radio.</p><p>Gustave pressed down on his radio. “10-4. Two tangos down.”</p><p>They nodded at each other and parted ways.</p><p>Gustave returned to the reception room; Taina moved over to the threshold of the door leading back to the main hallway, avoiding the wooden shrapnel from the demolished desks. Frigid fingertips dug out her the cell phone. She clicked into the system to browse through camera angles. Occasional movement. Unfamiliar rooms. Aborted the camera feeds, she instead summoned schematics. Giving the top floor a short-lived study, she shoved her phone back into her pocket and made her way to the main stairs. </p><p>Taina jogged through the corridor, slowing down near the only proof of the palace’s current purpose—a display of flags belonging to different countries in the vestibule. All in a row. Red and green from Portugal’s flag, the blue starred European Union flag. Germany. France. Italy. A Swedish flag that had been knocked over, the gold post laying on the floor.</p><p>She crept around the corner and up the main stairs. The steps were low, polished stone, with red carpet lining the center. Detailed reliefs occupied the walls, showcasing foliage and serpents and crests. Her left hand clenched, begging blood to return to her fingertips. But she felt nothing when she gripped her pistol with both hands at the final step.</p><p>Leaning, she tried to peek around the corner.</p><p>
  <em>Bang. Bang. </em>
</p><p>Her body recoiled from the sputtering of a rifle more than reacting to the sight of someone in the hallway.</p><p>Shots blitzed past her once more. They shattered the faces those stone dragons on the wall. Constant firing, the degree of angle cornering her even more.</p><p>Taina took two steps back down the stairs.</p><p>Then silence.</p><p>A lull in gunshots. A reload.</p><p>Hopping up the stairs, she snatched her shotgun and rounded the corner.</p><p>
  <em>Bang. Bang.</em>
</p><p>Shotgun blasts knocked the White Mask member right in front of her over. Eviscerating and bloody. Fatal.</p><p>She crept, shotgun still ready to fire, to the nearest doorframe. This one, uncharacteristically boring. Taina peered around and found an empty storage room. Ducking inside for cover, she released the SPAS-15 and reached for her phone, barely noting the soreness in her arm, like being punched.</p><p>“Any word on this so-called device,” Smoke asked over the radio. </p><p>“We’re looking,” Hibana snapped. </p><p>“Leave it to me,” Taina said into her radio. “I’ll find someone to talk.”</p><p><em>Talk</em>. Such a soft word for what she’d do, but they were running out of time. </p><p>One more quick browse of camera angles and blueprints, she stowed her phone and readied her pistol. Then she noticed the tear in her uniform sleeve—just above the right cuff. It exposed her skin underneath. Skin and the blood oozing out.</p><p>“Damn it.”</p><p>More an inconvenience than anything else, but she progressed back into the hallway, careful as she stole glances into each room: a plain white room; a red room; inside the next one, a small bedroom with green walls.</p><p>A figure stared down the sights of a rifle into the next room. Unaware of her presence.</p><p>So she crept closer. </p><p>And closer.</p><p>Pistol prepared to fire at any sign of being compromised.</p><p>Left hand, ready to strike. Her breath slowed, a subconscious demand come to life. </p><p>Taina attacked—balled left fist pounding against the back of the White Masks’ head. The man screamed. Crumpling, gun dropping to the ground. Taina stepped forward, left hand gripping onto the man’s masked face, and then she slammed him back head first onto the floor with a thick, sickening, <em>thunk</em>. </p><p>Blood already pooled upon the pastel argyle carpet under his body. He groaned. Writhing. Barely able to open his eyes.</p><p>Taina stepped over him, snatching out her knife.</p><p>The man screamed as she crouched down and pinned him in place. The pointed knife tip poked playfully at the skin of his neck.</p><p>“Where’s the device?”</p><p>Shots ruptured through from the other side of the wall. Narrowly avoiding her. But she was already in too deep. “<em>Talk</em>,” she ordered, shouting the command in his ear.</p><p>The knife delved deeper into his flesh.</p><p><em>Thud, thud thud, thud, thud</em>—footsteps. Running at her. </p><p>“Fuck,” she muttered, heaving herself up and fumbling into a mad dash to the side—to the next available room. As she neared the open doors, gunfire rang out behind her.</p><p>A single bullet struck her in the back, and she grunted.</p><p>Nothing else to fend herself with, Taina spun. She ripped the pin from her last impact grenade and tossed it behind her into the room as she left. But she never stopped running. A fact that did nothing to help her recover from the bullet knocking the wind out of her lungs. It remained lodged in her vest. But the ache hadn’t set in. Not yet.</p><p>Taina collided with a half-open chipped door, slamming it open. The hinges, wailing. She stumbled into the room. An office… Trashed. Computers screens shot through, desks knocked over. Windows barricaded. In the middle, a red and green crate. Out of place and unjustifiable. Perfect for carrying a bomb. And similar to what eyewitnesses had described.</p><p>Floorboards squealed to her left.</p><p>What followed: a metallic clacking, telltale—the rattles of a firearm.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Ambivalence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm posting early because I'm going to be very busy during my usual Thursday/Friday and the world stress level feels really high at the moment, and we could all use a break I think.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taina lunged out of the way. Her right shoulder and right hip crashed against the compact wall as she ducked into cover behind a tall stack of black and grey steel filing cabinets. Blood smeared over the wallpaper from her arm. She gripped her pistol. Ready to return fire.</p><p>Except there was nothing to return.</p><p>There was <em>nothing</em>: no banging, no missed shots. The person wasn’t even approaching. All she heard was the same metallic quivering. Like chattering teeth in the cold. She tried recalling the image—the vague flash in time her eyes had beheld. Male. Young. Seventeen at most. Wearing jeans and a cartoony t-shirt. From Portugal, she imagined. Stats she shouldn’t know...</p><p>Stats she wouldn’t know if his mask hadn’t been lifted, resting on his head instead of covering his face. </p><p><em>A couple shots to the chest</em>, her mind went off. <em>An easy down and then I can interrogate, and then we can diffuse this bomb. </em>A rant to ignore the fact that his rifle had been pointed at her back for far too many seconds than acceptable—the fact that she should more than certainly be dead.</p><p>Which only puzzled her more.</p><p>Something was wrong.</p><p>Pistol raised right in front of her face, she hesitated. Finger, rapping against the slide. Still wedged behind cover, her head sank forward and tapped against the edge of the suppressor where it screwed into the muzzle. “God damn it,” she mouthed. Silent. Already despising the choice she couldn’t help herself from making. “<em>Se faz favor?</em>”</p><p>The gun in the boy’s hand rattled again. “<em>Hã?</em>”</p><p>Confirmation.</p><p>Taina cleared her throat. <em>I can't believe I'm doing this.</em> “What’s in the container?” she asked, forcing her words to slow as they left her mouth. An attempt to suppress the Brazilian accent drenching her Portuguese in hopes he would better understand her. “Is it the bomb?”</p><p>“It’s soda.”</p><p>Taina shook her head and reeled at the response.</p><p>
  <em>Soda?</em>
</p><p>His Portuguese accent messed with her mind, pronunciation all muddled. She tried to repeat the word in her head, but she couldn’t figure out what he was trying to say. Whatever it was, she was certain it wasn’t <em>soda</em>. </p><p>“They told me I have to shoot whoever comes in here,” he said. </p><p>“You didn’t shoot me.”</p><p>“I don’t want to shoot anyone.”</p><p>She wasn’t sure she believed his words. But the gun in his hands trembling again ate away the silence and began tiding over her savage apprehension. Confused—she wasn’t used to being confused on an operation. She wasn’t used to <em>thinking</em> on an operation. Taina twisted, leaning, stretching. Anything to catch a glimpse of her contender. Head tilting a little bit more, she caught him beyond the edge of the file cabinet.</p><p>Mask still up. Partially obscuring his forehead, his mop of short, dark curls, and nothing else.</p><p>His rifle, pointed at the ground.</p><p>His finger, resting on the trigger. The boy glanced around. Frantic. </p><p>Somehow all of that scared her even more. Like a rabid animal cornered. How could she anticipate his next move?</p><p>He caught her looking and yelled, “Stop!” The rifle snapped up. Muzzle, aimed right at her face.</p><p>Taina slammed back into her corner between the wall and the file cabinet. A coldness trickled through her veins. The cause, unknown. Adrenaline? The frigid metal she had rammed herself against? Perhaps it was her body adjusting to such raw pain gnawing through her muscles, her flesh, her bones: a possibly cracked rib and the gash on her arm that had begun bleeding even more. </p><p><em>Must be a new recruit</em>, Taina figured. </p><p>Which meant the bomb was elsewhere. They’d never leave it with newbie. With someone who hadn’t proven themselves yet. If anything, he was a red herring. A scapegoat to eat up time—and a successful one at that. But that didn’t mean he didn’t know something. </p><p>So while gunshots exploded in the distance, grenades shook the palace, and shrill voices screeched over the radio, she kept conversing. “Where’s the bomb?”</p><p>“Go away!”</p><p>“Cav, check in,” Sledge ordered over the radio. The decibel of his uninvited voice made her wince. <em>Not now</em>. </p><p>“How about you just lower the gun?” she called out to the boy. Switching gears into alien territory. BOPE provided only very basic, <em>basic</em> training in negotiation, and she hated <em>every</em> second of it. Negotiation, nothing but a verbal fight for control, and she was never good at sharing. Too to-the-point, do-or-die. “Maybe we can… help each other.”</p><p>Even she didn’t buy her words’ offer.</p><p>Then, like a timer had gone off, any further thought processes died.</p><p>There was no time to mess around. She wasn’t a negotiator; she was an intel-gatherer. A killer. And the two often went hand in hand. She had done it a hundred times before. Not a very glorious stat, but it got results. Middle aged women. Old men. Young men. <em>Men</em>. Not boys. <em>There are bad teens</em>, she reminded herself. There are teens who live a certain lifestyle and sometimes there was a price to pay. Ten times out of ten she argued she probably should have been one of them.</p><p>Maybe they were the same.</p><p>Maybe.</p><p>But that couldn’t matter. Not now.</p><p>Taina stepped out over shards of wood and splayed out papers, pistol sights right at the boy's head—turned. Glancing over his own shoulder at the doors to the main hallway. Then he pivoted to her, trying to raise his rifle as quickly as possible.</p><p><em>Bang</em>.</p><p>Taina flinched.</p><p>Every muscle, spasming. Awaiting the pain, the blackness. </p><p>Nothing.</p><p>In a blur of a moment, the boy’s scream filled her ears. A high-pitched garble that faded frighteningly fast. There and then gone. </p><p>Behind his collapsing body, a White Mask member with a long shotgun. His gloved hand tugged on the pump. Reloading.</p><p>Taina shifted her sights and pressed down on the trigger.</p><p>
  <em>Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.</em>
</p><p>The White Mask member dropped to his knees and then to the wooden floor. Head and skull, barely intact. Blood and liquid brain matter spewed everywhere. </p><p>Taina cleared her throat. Trying to manipulate herself, the jagged cadence of exhales, into believing everything was fine. She marched forward and paused at the red and green crate. The lid sat partially dislodged. Luison still aimed at the motionless White Mask member, she opted out of leaning down. Instead she nudged a boot at the lid, knocking it off, and sending it clattering to the scuffed and document-covered floorboards. Only then did her eyes stray, and she peered into the crate, baffled by the sight. Occupied—not a bomb.</p><p>Filled to the brim with bottles of Coke and Pepsi.</p><p><em>What the hell? </em>Taina shook her head. No room in her racing mind for that non-sense.</p><p>She made her way toward to the boy's motionless body with a compromised stride. Scorching aches wormed up the entirety of her left thigh. <em>A stray pellet</em>, she reasoned. Survivable. Taina stepped right up to where he lay sprawled across the floor. Leaning, hunching over his dead body. Wide eyed, she gaped. The back of his hoodie, wrecked with tiny holes and drenched in blood. 12 gauge. Close range. Completely fatal. The blood spread across his back. On the hood of his sweater, one single red drop.</p><p>Then two.</p><p>Then three.</p><p>Her eyebrows furrowed.</p><p>In the corners of her narrowing vision, she saw it. To the left. Another thick drop of blood falling down on him. “Shit.”</p><p>Taina glanced down to survey as much of her body in one look as possible. The left shoulder of her uniform and vest, darkened. Soaked in crimson. It spread through the fabric. The gloved palm of her left hand pressed against the side of her neck.</p><p>“<em>Shit</em>.”</p><p>She felt it.</p><p>Sickeningly warm blood. It surged between her fingers in pulses. She crammed her pistol into its holster then reached over for the radio with her right hand. The device, spattered in red drops. Wet—her clenched fingers slipped around the black plastic. For the first time in moments, she noticed the other operators talking: Seamus telling her to check in, attackers inquiring about the bomb; stating who cleared what room. Taina jammed down on the red button and interrupted them all.</p><p>“Doc,” she whimpered, thumb gliding off the button once more.</p><p>Her breaths quickened. She always swore she would die stoic, but it was bad. She knew it was bad. The blood soaked through her uniform, drenching her tank top—the dampness, tepid against her skin underneath that. </p><p>“Cav! What’s happened?” Gustave asked. Yelled. Voice, uneven, not hiding the concern. “Where are you?”</p><p>Taina reclaimed her pistol then quickly staggered out into the hallway, colliding against the north wall. She didn’t really know where she was. But she knew where he’d be. She backtracked through the hallway to where the main stairs would be. Her breaths, ragged. Steps, lopsided and heavy. Pistol raised in front of her, quivering. She crossed through a semi-enclosed walkway she had never seen before where the corpse of a White Mask member lay. The walkway, composed of marble. Statues of half-naked women seemed to support the ceiling.</p><p>“Taina, where are you?” Gustave asked again.</p><p>Barely audible to her despite the earpiece still wedged in place. Standing in the walkway, she peered over the ledge. In the distance—the vestibule. Taina whirled around, dizzying herself with each unsteady movement as she lost more blood.Peered down over the other side of the marble railing, the scenery was distinct. Pink trimmed chairs lined both sides of the walls. Dozens and dozens. Large drapes. A massive biblical tapestry, high ceilings—<em>this is the banquet hall,</em> she realized.</p><p>The banquet hall connected to the account’s room which connected to the reception room.</p><p>Taina put her pistol away, already committing to the insane thought process. But it was quicker than running all the way to the stairs and back again—her body didn’t have that time to spare.</p><p>With one hand, she raised her shot gun.</p><p>
  <em>Bang.</em>
</p><p>Marble chips and chunks blasted through the air and rained down into the old ballroom below. <em>Bang.</em> The handrail disintegrated next. Taking with it—the hand and head of a baby angel statue holding a violin. Taina heard the refuse plinking on the floor below.</p><p>“I found her.” Valkyrie’s voice pierced through the static of the radio.</p><p>Taina wrenched her eyes shut. <em>Just go</em>, she coaxed herself.</p><p>Then she jumped.</p><p>“Show off,” Meghan muttered.</p><p>Taina landed on the ground, heavy. <em>Thud. </em>A sharp pain speared all the way up her shins. That pain and the momentum—all too much to withstand. Her numbed body tumbled forward, and Taina fell to her knees. Only one hand on the ground kept her from a full collapse. Marble shards sliced at the skin of her fingers.</p><p>Meghan sprinted over from the side doors to help. Her gloved hand gripped onto Taina’s right bicep and heaved her up into a stand. “What happened—”</p><p>Valkyrie’s gaze settled on Taina’s left shoulder. The patch of red had spread. Tainting her entire upper left side, starting to seep down over her chest. </p><p>“Oh fuck!” Meghan snapped out her right hand and pushed down on Taina’s to help compress the wound. The two of them moved together under Valkyrie's force. Together they sprinted over more debris. The shards, gnashing when they crossed over the hardwood.</p><p>“There they are!”</p><p>Two White Mask members darted into view from the hallway on the other side of gold-trimmed columns.</p><p>Meghan hauled Taina down with her to duck for cover. They landed behind the thick base the columns stood upon. Taina knocked over one of the fancy wooden chairs as she plummeted. By the time she crashed onto the floor, Valkyrie had already retrieved her SMG. </p><p>Trying to keep a hand pressed against her neck, Taina forced herself to roll over. Bright red blood still stained the plush crepe-coloured rug in droplets and long smears.</p><p>Meghan open-fired on the White Masks. </p><p>The cracking of gunshots ripped a headache through her brain. Gustave’s shouts in her ear did no favours. Bullets zipped by overhead. One caught a ceramic vase; razor sharp shards fell over Taina while she crawled up onto her knees. She snatched her pistol and fired two shots. Blind shots—she saw nothing between the four sets of columns. </p><p>But then there was only silence. </p><p>Valkyrie suddenly picked Taina back up once more.</p><p>Hand braced against Taina‘s neck, she ran her through the rest of the banquet hall and through the accountant’s room. The gorgeous white doors to the reception room lay on the ground, shotgunned off their hinges. The gold trim, gouged away. Taina and Meghan ran through the threshold together.</p><p>“Doc!” Valkyrie shouted. </p><p>Gustave spun towards them. The gun in his hand slipped from his grip, and he darted over. His eyes frantically survey her body and its damage. His left hand cupped her face while his right hand settled over Valkyrie’s, and only then did she slip her hand out from in between Gustave’s and Taina’s. “Can you breathe alright?” The question breezed out, his voice pinched, anxious.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Gustave steered Taina over to the side wall and helped her carefully sink into a sit. He crouched down with her. “Keep pressing on it. Hard,” he said. “As hard as you can.”</p><p>Taina shoved her palm against her neck with all the force she could muster.</p><p>Gustave withdrew his hand. Then he equipped his stim pistol. Opening propped against the outside of her left thigh, he pulled the trigger and then—<em>pop</em>—the distinctive sound barely registered.</p><p>But her own wheezing gasp for air, that she heard.</p><p>He had shot her with pellets and other things before in training and simulations, but she forgot how brutal the surge of real, pure adrenaline was. Taina’s entire body pitched forward. Cold electricity threatening to rupture through the walls of every blood vessel. Eyes bulging. The cloud fogging her mind immediately evaporated.</p><p>Gustave put the stim pistol away and returned his hand to help compress the wound. Taina studied him—a distraction from her stormy breaths, still unsettled. His gaze moved to the small hole in her rig. Right below her radio transmitter. His eyes examined the rest of her, roaming down and searching. On her left thigh, a small tear in the fabric. Skin poked out, visible through the gap—bloody with a dark hole in the center. The pellet still embedded in her flesh. His left thumb brushed over hole to survey how much blood resurged. Then he pressed his hand against that wound as well.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Taina whispered. Such pointless words. Her own denial-ridden diagnosis in the face of a medic. “I’m fine.”</p><p>Valkyrie fired at someone to prevent them from breaching the reception room. Gustave glanced over his shoulder—the volley of bullets screaming for his attention before he turned back to Taina.</p><p>“Seriously. I’m fine. Go,” she said. “I’ll be back up in a minute.”</p><p>“Absolutely not.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You’re not moving from this spot, do you hear me?”</p><p>“That’s the whole point of the stim,” she said.</p><p>Gustave removed his hand from hers. Bright redness streaked the white latex glove. He stifled a groan and he wiped her blood off on the legs of his coveralls. “For shots to the leg and arm,” he said, reloading his stim pistol for when he needed it again. “Not shrapnel that severs the carotid sheath.”</p><p>“I’ll be fine.”</p><p>Gustave flicked open the drop pouch at his hip and withdrew a pen. “Taina, if you move, the coagulation ruptures, and you’ll bleed out in minutes. You’ve already lost a lot of blood as it is.” He gripped her left hand, still clutching onto her Luison, and jabbed his fingers against her radial artery to take a pulse. Focused. Despite the gunshots ringing out. Despite the voices weaving in and out over their radioes. Her lowered her hand back onto the ground and scribbled on the back of his left hand with the pen. “You <em>have</em> to stay put, okay?”</p><p>The air ruptured out of her lungs and through her lips—a resigned sigh.</p><p>When she didn’t reply, he shuffled closer to her, hand braced against the wall donning pink wallpaper and gold trim. “You’re not allowed to leave me, Taina,” he whispered. “I won’t let that happen.”</p><p>She applied more pressure to her neck. Either the bleeding was slowing or she was losing feeling in her hands. Maybe both. Taina smiled up at Gustave, somehow finding time in the havoc to enjoy his closeness. “You better not.”</p><p>He released a quaking breath—the shell of a chuckle.</p><p>“So stay here. Stay awake, and don’t move.” With gentle fingers, he plucked at her hand. Peeling her palm away from her neck to check the damage. The bleeding had almost entirely stopped. His hand then blanketed hers, a gesture to continue applying pressure. “Call me if you start fading.”</p><p>Taina nodded at him, and Gustave nodded back.</p><p>Then with bloodstained hands, he gripped onto his MP5, shooting into a stand. Gustave rushed to the other side of the room to fight off any other White Mask members trying to break into or rush them.</p><p>With nothing else to do, Taina memorized her surroundings. The reception room had fallen into ruin since she last saw it. The fireplace, demolished. Holes in walls. Every baby blue floral printed vase shattered. Off to her right, the long, solid wooden table had been turned on its side. Serving as protection. Behind it, half a dozen strangers huddled together. All of them dressed in business attire—men in suit jackets and ties, the two women both wearing pencil skirts. One of them had blood spattered on her pale blue button up blouse. Someone else’s in all likelihood. Still, the woman appeared traumatized. Vacant, brown eyes lost in a thousand mile stare. A gentleman, another one of the hostages, sat huddled in a ball with one hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his sobbing.</p><p>She bet none of them were even foreign affairs ministers. A few of them gaped at her. Unsure. Like they didn’t know if they should be terrified of her or for her. </p><p>“<em>Oi!</em>” she called out.</p><p>All seven of the hostages rubbernecked at her, gaping and fearful and cowering behind one another—though a few remained calm.</p><p>Taina tried once again to reprogram her Brazilian accent for their Portuguese ears. “Has anyone seen a—”</p><p>She peered into the tear-laden eyes of the blonde woman dressed in someone else’s blood.</p><p>Bomb was not the word to use.</p><p>“A <em>device</em> that they brought? Some kind of electronic or canister?”</p><p>They all shook their heads.</p><p>The fingers against her neck shifted and the dried film of blood crackled. “Are there more hostages—”</p><p>
  <em>Bang, bang, bang, bang!</em>
</p><p>Bullets cut through the open doors to east. They lodged into the wall with high-pitched bangs. One of the hostages screamed.</p><p>Gustave fired back. But then the deafening sound of a shotgun blast flooded the room.</p><p>Debris spilled from the ceiling onto the large vomit-yellow area rug. Pieces of the floor above. Gold decor. Fragments of a mural. Shards of glass. All leaving a gaping hole into the room above.</p><p>“Shit,” Valkyrie mumbled. She alternated her aim between the north doors and the ceiling. </p><p><em>Come on, Taina. </em>She groaned, forcing herself to act. Raising her pistol, she aimed at the ceiling. Her arm seemed to weigh more than a thousand boulders. Hand shaking, the sights she tried to peer down made her dizzy. Even the laser bounced all over.</p><p>No movement.</p><p>She tried listening for footsteps above her, but she couldn’t hear. Just bloodcurdling screams and Buck yelling over the radio about having swept almost the entire building and not being able to find the bomb.</p><p>Another shotgun blast blew the hole open even wider. </p><p>Taina slammed on the trigger. Reflexes sounding off. Nowhere near as fast as she thought she was. An awful firing rate. <em>Clink. Clink—</em></p><p>
  <em>Click, click, click.</em>
</p><p>The gun’s slide, locked in a pulled back position. The muzzle—fully exposed. She turned the gun in her hand, staring at it from the side. Taina pulled the trigger again as if the outcome would change. <em>Click.</em> Empty. “<em>Caralho!</em>” Fingers going numb and cold, she tried flipping the firearm over to grab the handle, thumb flicking at the magazine release on the bottom.</p><p>The black pistol tumbled out of her hand and clattered against the hardwood strewn with shards from a shattered wine glass.</p><p>“Fuck!”</p><p>Taina slammed her head back against the wall. Eyes wrenching closed, exhale dribbling past her dry lips. </p><p>“<em>Com licença, senhora?</em>”</p><p>A timid, deep voice to the right. Taina opened her eyes and glanced over at the source. </p><p>A man in his sixties. Grey infiltrated his caramel brown hair and overtook his beard. He had moved to the edge of the flipped table, still blocked in by the intricately carved wooden legs. He extended a hand of calloused and crooked fingers and signalled at her. A beckoning. </p><p>Policing 101—never give your gun away, but she needed to do something.</p><p>Taina lowered the Luison onto the hardwood floor and slid it across to the man. He picked it up and flicked loose the handle magazine latch for her. The magazine popped loose. He picked it out, set it down along the edge of the area rug, and then gestured toward her once more. The magazine. Numb fingers retrieved a fresh one from her vest, and she slid that over to him too. The gentleman popped it into place and tugged back the slid. It snapped forward into place. Loaded. The man flicked the safety latch before placing the pistol on the ground and shoving it across the hardwood to her once more.</p><p>Taina smiled at him. “<em>Obrigada</em>.”</p><p>The grip secure in her hand, a welcomed feeling, a perfect fit. She forced her arm back up, thumb flicking the safety down, and readied herself. Finger resting around the trigger.</p><p>She heard him—the shuffling.</p><p>The creaking.</p><p>Some White Mask member. Lurking around, still above their heads.</p><p>In the sudden ceasing of gunshots, another sound arose. Rattling—then something plummeted through the hole. Long, tubular.</p><p>“Flash incoming!” Valk shouted.</p><p>
  <em>Bang.</em>
</p><p>Taina slammed her eyes shut just in time. A hissing noise echoed through her ears. It faded only to be replaced by the sound of gunshots. When she opened her eyes, parts of the flooring splintered, struck by bullets again and again. </p><p>A chorus of screams from the crowd people next to her resurfaced.</p><p><em>Clink. Clink. </em>She fired at the gaping hole in the ceiling. <em>Clink.</em> Around it. <em>Clink. </em>Near it—as best as she could. The leg of someone came into part of her blackening view so she fired more. <em>Clink. Clink.</em> Her eyes, starting to flutter shut. <em>Clink.</em></p><p><em>Thud</em>.</p><p>The White Mask member crashed onto the ground. Screeching and swearing. Not yet dead. </p><p>Valkyrie shifted her focus from the north doors to the ceiling and she sprayed bullets over the floor until one final gut wrenching scream rang out.</p><p>“<em>Senhora?</em>”</p><p>Meghan backed away. Her spine flush to one of the walls while Gustave crouched behind a deployable shield. Scope zeroed in, firing through the east doors. Valkyrie popped loose the magazine on her MPX and shoved another curved magazine in its place. “Nice shot, Cav.” </p><p>Taina heard nothing. Her head stooped. Limp. Both arms fell to her sides. Her left hand, caked in layers of blood beginning to dry—to her glove, to her skin, under her fingernails. Everywhere. The pistol in her right hand broke free from her grip. Eyes, welded shut. Consciousness—gone. Her entire body tilted to the right. Sinking. Falling. Falling, and then <em>thump.</em></p><p>“Cav…? Caveira?”</p><p>“<em>Taina!</em>”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Faca na Caveira</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you everyone who continues to read this story, and a special thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos. I honestly appreciate it more than I can say (and yet I continue to try and say it almost every chapter). There’s some important-ish notes below, so please do take a quick look, but in the meantime, enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bullets zipped through the east door of the reception room in waves. And Gustave did nothing to fight them off. Gun still raised. Crouched behind cover. Metal pinged against metal. High-velocity steel leaving dents, gouging out pieces of the deployable shield protecting him. Not even flinching, he craned his neck to catch sight of her—but the massive dining table protecting the hostages obscured his view.</p><p>“Taina?” he called again.</p><p>Still no response.</p><p>“<em>Putain!</em> Valk, cover me!”</p><p>It took a fraction of a second for Valkyrie to do so. She pivoted and hip-fired back into the other room in bursts. Wild and frenzied.</p><p>Gustave released his firearm and withdrew the already loaded stim pistol. Zero hesitation, he backed away from the only object keeping him from harm. Moving. Retreating step after step. Avoiding bullets until he finally caught sight of her.</p><p>Taina lay slumped to the side. Her body, a blood-covered heap on the ground. Motionless. Eyes closed.</p><p>Dying.</p><p>Gustave took aim and fired.</p><p>The autoinjector shot through the air and collided with her thigh. Its needle stabbed into the flesh. Adrenaline, jutting through her veins.</p><p>Her whole body spasmed. Every muscle. Shuddering—like a thousand volts of electricity coursed through her.</p><p>Gagging, gasping; lungs overfilling with oxygen, she breathed.</p><p>The stim hauled her out of unconsciousness, and she blinked, crazed. Trying to make sense of her surroundings—heart-stopping screeches, deafening bangs, the blood coating her skin, spent shell casings puddled around her, bullets sailing through the air from the open doors.</p><p>“Fuck this,” Meghan shouted. One more burst of bullets and then she abandoned the current plan. No more fighting gunfire with gunfire. She withdrew a block of C4 and tore the duct tape off the back all in one quick motion. Then she pitched it into the next room over. “Nitro cell out!”</p><p>“Get down,” Gustave called out to the hostages.</p><p>The burner phone in Valkyrie’s other hand beeped.</p><p>
  <em>Boom!</em>
</p><p>The floor under Taina and the wall against her back trembled.</p><p>Shards and pieces and chunks of everything—wood, stone, concrete, glass—sprinkled down from the gap in the ceiling at the quake.</p><p>A plume of dust followed.</p><p>Gustave darted through the line of fire and sprinted over toward where Taina lay while Valkyrie trained the sights of her MPX through the doors once more. Anticipating movement despite the blast. Despite the silence that followed.</p><p>Taina moaned—swamped by some inexplicable sense. Like a massive and punishing wave rolling overhead, tearing limbs in every direction and submerging her. Hands braced against the floor, she tried pushing herself up. The muscles in her arm quivered, but she felt nothing. No ache. No pain. Not even the muscles themselves twitching, longing to give out from under her.</p><p>Just nothing.</p><p>Gustave dropped to his knees next to her, arms circling around her upper body, hand supporting her head. He raised her into a sit, back resting against the wall. Her leg bumped a spent autoinjector. The cylindrical tube rolled in a half circle on its blue end before falling back, the orange tip pointing at her.</p><p>“Stop wasting them on me,” Taina said.</p><p>An aim at assertiveness withered into a pathetic, croaking plea.</p><p>Gustave paid no attention; he reached into the pouch over his hip and recovered his pen once more. One gloved hand still stained with crimson—darker now, dried—hooped around her wrist. The tops of his middle and index finger pressed against her radial vein.</p><p>“You only have one left.”</p><p>Taina tried snatching his hand when he released her wrist. Fingers, barely able to curl. Grip, non-existent. Like moving through tar.</p><p>Gustave quickly wrote her beats per minute on the back of his hand. That blue ink gleamed, fresh and wet, on the white latex. Still not listening.</p><p>“Do not use it on me, Gustave.”</p><p>His head snapped up at the sound of his name.</p><p>Any memory of the sound—the feeling—of his name on her lips and by her voice, it had faded. And speaking it once more only further skewed her already warped perception of reality. Foreign. Intoxicating. A dreamscape born anew each time, for the last time. Her sights deviated from his anguished eyes: a huge curved piece of shattered white and navy oriental pottery, every one of her left fingertips stained in red, the two emptied autoinjectors. </p><p>The shallow breaths, all her lungs permitted, razed her voice down to a whisper. “Promise me.”</p><p>“I can’t promise anything,” Gustave said.</p><p>Taina didn’t know if that multilayered response was a good thing or not. Eyelids weighing down, she settled for not thinking about it further.</p><p>Gustave cupped her jaw in his right hand, and he leaned over her to examine the side of her neck. Blood had dried thick over the skin there, like red mud. All over her shoulder. Down to the skin stretched over her collarbone, but the blood had stopped gushing.</p><p>His fingers suddenly tapped against her cheek. Harder and harder each time. Smearing the black and white paint together. “<em>Non,</em> Taina. You have to open your eyes.”</p><p>Her eyes peeled open, burning in bright white lights. Slow and resistant. A sharp contrast to her breaths—a manic cadence.</p><p>“Doc!”</p><p>Valkyrie’s gun garbled out dozens of quick bangs.</p><p>Then a response—bullets ripped through the walls. Through the gaping open doors on the north side, shredding wallpaper and exploding splinters of wood on the south side.</p><p>The hostages next to them screamed. Discordant. Blood-curdling.</p><p>Gustave gripped onto her right shoulder, giving her a squeeze, and armed himself with his MP5. “Stay awake.”</p><p>He then leapt into a stand and took off.</p><p>Taina sought out something menial to do. Anything to keep her mind’s cylinders firing—to keep herself conscious. Eyes drifting, she found her pistol abandoned on the ground amongst the two spent stims. Her arm stretched, and her fingertips grazed the handle. Almost in reach. Black nails scraped along the grip’s shallow crosshatch detailing until she had enough leverage to nudge it closer.</p><p>“Where the hell is this fucking bomb?” Maestro shouted over everyone’s radio.</p><p>“We need back up in reception,” Valkyrie yelled over.</p><p>Taina’s hand clenched around the pistol. Not that it did any good. She could barely keep her eyes open, never mind holding up a gun and being able to actually aim.</p><p>Her eyes blinked. Once.</p><p>Ceaseless gunfire, a symphony of bangs both chaotic and rhythmic, lulled her: a nightmarish lullaby for the broken. The anthem of her entire mess of a life. Into the shroud of darkness, the light in her eyes evaporated.</p><p>Sleep.</p><p>
  <em>‘Taina, I—’</em>
</p><p>Something in her rebelled.</p><p>A nauseating ache in her stomach fighting the pain in her chest—it tore her eyes open. Filling them with an astringent burn. Hindering her ability to see. Blind, but awake.</p><p>Hibana’s accented voice punctured into Taina’s ear. “<em>I’m looking!</em> I’ve been looking! Clearly they’ve hidden it.”</p><p>“I’ll rotate,” Smoke called over his radio.</p><p>Taina’s head rested against the wall behind her, occasionally rolling to the side. Beyond control. Even the pain in her chest—the pain of her heart struggling to beat, failing to remain unbroken—couldn't keep her anchored in awareness.</p><p>Weaving in and out of consciousness.</p><p>Blink.</p><p>A man, face obscured by a black, apocalyptic gas mask bolted past her, gun raised. Smoke, but her vision had gone too dark to see for certain.</p><p>Blink.</p><p>A White Mask member charged into the room. Three separate streams of bullets sliced through the reception room and riddled his body into viscera. Crimson spewed over the ripping wallpaper and the fabric seats of chairs.</p><p>Blink.</p><p>Black.</p><p>“<em>Taina!</em>” Gustave collapsed at her side and rattled her right shoulder.</p><p>“I’m awake,” she breathed out, eyes still shut, unable to find her actual voice. It had run away somewhere. </p><p>Gustave searched her wrist for another pulse, another reading. But he failed to find it. Too weak. He placed his fingers on the side of her throat instead, the right side. The bloodless one. “<em>Merde!</em>” He jotted her BPM down in messy writing and then said, “I have to move you. You need to lay down.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“But you can’t fall asleep.”</p><p>Taina nodded.</p><p>His arm circled around her waist to shift her down while his left hand cradled her head, and she sank deeper into a sea of numbness. Enveloped in a void. Vision blurring. His hand lowered her head gingerly upon the hardwood floor. Then he moved. Hands gripping her calves, forcing her legs to straighten out, Gustave nudged one of the tactical backpacks that had been filled to the brim with tech and equipment so it pillowed her feet. He continued stacking objects. Two more backpacks, books, and semi-intact pieces of a barricade—whatever he could use to elevate her feet.</p><p>“James,” Gustave shouted. He pointed to the other end of the room. “Grab that table cloth.”</p><p>Her eyes coaxed open. Soft white light pouring over the ceiling and down the walls from the chandelier spilled into her eyes. The dangling crystals dripped like million dollar raindrops.</p><p>Gustave hunched over her, hand once again returning to her face. “No moving, okay? I want you to count out loud for me.”</p><p>Smoke ran up to them with the white table cloth that once dressed the long dining table. Composed of tightly woven and scratchy material, dainty stitchings of daisies and vines embroidered the fabric. Gustave took it from him, folded it over once, then draped it over Taina’s body.</p><p>“<em>O médico?</em>”</p><p>Gustave and Taina both peered over at the foreign voice.</p><p>The old man leaned over from behind the table where he took cover with the other hostages. In his stretched out hand, his silver suit jacket. Gustave reached over Taina to take the article from him. “Thank you.”</p><p>Taina smiled at the man. “<em>Obrigada</em>.”</p><p>The man nodded back.</p><p>She hoped to God they would make it out of there. Or at least that he would. Though the odds of that weren’t looking good...</p><p>Taina tried shutting out the yelling over the radio, Hibana yelling at a demanding Sledge: “They’ve obviously hidden it somewhere. Meaning it could be anywhere.”</p><p>Gustave laid the jacket over her upper body, smoothing the edges around her arms. “Okay. Stay awake. Start counting.”</p><p>Taina’s arm shot out in an unprecedented act of agility given her current state—the fires of despair. Her hand clenched onto the bunched navy fabric of his sleeve before he could get into a stand.</p><p>“<em>Gustave</em>.”</p><p>His eyes closed upon the sound of his own name. A deep but staggered inhale ripped through him.</p><p>Blood soiled his entire uniform. On the deep blue GIGN fabric, almost invisible. On the bright white shoulder pad, his gloves, his trousers. Who knew where else? She prayed all of it was hers.</p><p>When he opened his eyes again, she saw the wounds beyond them. A weak, flickering light trying to shine. Gustave shook his head.</p><p>He knew.</p><p>And clarity collided into her like a locomotive—she was hemorrhaging control.</p><p>Powerless. Nothing under her influence anymore. Everything, fixed and set. And that right moment she had been awaiting would likely never come. Every right one was already dead and in the ground, and all that remained—this one terminal moment.</p><p>And she knew she had to seize it.</p><p>“Just in case.”</p><p>“<em>Non</em>,” Gustave croaked, compromised.</p><p>She released the handful of fabric. Desiccated blood coated her fingers, palm, and wrist, having dribbled under her glove. It pinched at the skin; it snagged on Gustave’s sleeve when her hand curved around the tense muscles of his forearm. Something like a grip, but more languid. Touch for the sake of touch—a fear of letting go forever.</p><p>Taina took as deep a breath her expiring body granted. “I love you,” she whispered.</p><p>Gustave’s posture collapsed, head hanging low over her. A tremor rippled through his entire body—a smothered sob. He raised his head once more, their gazes reuniting. Beautiful eyes marked with glimmering tears; she ignored the fact they were storming hers as well. Gustave nodded. Nothing else to say.</p><p>“<em>Je suis désolée</em>,” Taina uttered. Her lower lip trembled when she swallowed whatever had built up in the back of her throat—saliva, bile, blood. A mixture of all three perhaps. “Forgive me?”</p><p><em>Absolve me</em>, her mind screamed. <em>Save my soul.</em></p><p>From her sins. Of which there were so very many. So much blood. Murder, usually justifiable. Not always necessary. Crimes. Wrath and acrimony. Way too late to repent. What even was the point? The gates to heaven would be guarded, and she doubted she’d even make it to the front door anyways.</p><p>Only his absolution mattered.</p><p>Gustave blinked back the tears threatening to spill over.</p><p>His hand clutched hers, removing it from his forearm and raising it to his face instead. To his concealed lips. Like blood didn’t mar all her skin turning paler than the moon. Like her hands weren’t cold as ice. He kissed the backs of her fingers the way he had so long ago to reel her into a spiral of happiness she could never have anticipated. Even though every feature of his face save for his eyes lay hidden, she could see movement of the tiny muscles there, eyebrows sinking. Tormented.</p><p>Taina imagined feeling his warm but dry lips brushing against her skin—imagined it unleashing her.</p><p>Gustave folded her arm and tucked it back under cover. Under the warmth of the table cloth and jacket draped atop her. “Count for me,” he begged of her.</p><p>He waited by her side until her lips parted.</p><p>“One. Two.”</p><p>Gustave rose. He aimed his MP5 through the east doors into the accountant’s room now showcasing giant holes in the wall, singed wallpaper, and ashen debris everywhere from the nitro cell.</p><p>Smoke held the west doors.</p><p>“Three,” Taina called out.</p><p>While Valkyrie held the main doors, she declared over communications, “We need to evacuate these hostages now. There can’t be much time left on the bomb. We’re going through the reception windows following the wall and exiting out the courtyard doors.”</p><p>Buck chimed in over the radio. “Nomad and I will cover from the roof.”</p><p>Dokkaebi said, “I can escort.”</p><p>“I’ll be down there in two minutes,” Sledge added.</p><p>Taina eavesdropped on their plan—as much as her ringing ears allowed at least. Everything sounded underwater.</p><p>“Cav?” Gustave called out.</p><p>“Four,” she replied.</p><p>Valkyrie took shelter behind a small table and scrubbed through the camera angles available on her cell phone. “There should only be eleven or so White Masks left, and most of them will probably be keeping an eye on the device. GOE will need to completely evacuate the area because at this point we may have to let it blow.”</p><p>Hibana, in charge of the diffuser, chimed in. The rage, evident in her ever-thickening Japanese accent. “I’m trying,” she snapped. “If I knew anything about this damn device that might help. Is it huge? Is it tiny? I have nothing to go on. Either be helpful, or shut up.”</p><p>Taina blinked at the bluish-white ceiling above her. An abundance of disturbing painted faces gaped back at her. Nude angels gracefully ensnared in vines. A Bacchus-like figure pouring wine. Her hand skirted up the side of her body—a sensation invisible to her fingertips, but she felt the movement over her hip and her chest. Her hand groped for something that didn’t feel like a body part.</p><p>Finding the hard plastic square, her fingers prodded at the button of her radio set. The earpiece in her ear hissed. Awaiting her message.</p><p>“Knee height,” Taina said.</p><p>“How do you know that?” Yumiko asked, her voice ducking in and out of focus between a low garbling shout. “Ten left.”</p><p>She depressed the red button once more. “The crate they brought it in.” The shallow breaths, insufficient to speak. The chest pains resurfaced. Like a stab wound piercing her heart and lungs from the inside out. She forced herself to inhale. “It’s upstairs.”</p><p>“What the fuck, Cav? You just bring this up now?” Seamus shouted at her over the radio, a hundred crackles and pops sounding against her eardrum.</p><p>Prone on the ground and facing the ceiling, Taina couldn’t see both Valkyrie and Doc pivot to look at her.</p><p>At most she saw her own chest and the radio in her hand barely rising and falling even though she breathed faster and faster with each inhalation. Another douse of pain exploded through her chest. Deeper this time. Buried. As if her organs were ripping, snapping, apart inside her ribs. “Bomb’s not in it,” she wheezed out.</p><p>“What is?” Seamus asked.</p><p>“Nothing. Just—”</p><p>
  <em>Oh fuck.</em>
</p><p>The ceiling—its freakish paintings and the golden borders—spun a full 360 degrees, immediately making her gag on the verge of vomiting. But nothing came up. Taina tried to rise, to rock every muscle forward on the count of three, but she was like a stone. Immobilized. Failing, she tried rolling over instead. Her elbow ground into the hardwood and shards of shattered wine glasses.</p><p>Smoke took two steps closer, one arm extended out as if he aimed to grapple with her. “Whoa, whoa! Don’t move.”</p><p>“Is there a cafeteria anywhere?” she asked between reps of three breaths. “A break room?”</p><p>“What?” Smoke asked. Muffled, almost incomprehensible, behind the mask.</p><p>Her eyes slipped shut. The endless spiral of her surroundings, she couldn’t take it. Her left hand flopped up once more, rummaging for her comms. Finding the object, her hand wrapped around the entire radio, and she prayed something weighed the button down enough for her to talk. “Where can you get soda?” she asked over the radio.</p><p>An opening to a bad punch line.</p><p>“<em>Get wot?</em>” Sledge yelled.</p><p>“Soda,” she breathed out. “Pop? Coca-Cola… or… Peps…”</p><p>“Soda?” Hibana echoed. “What— why?”</p><p>Taina was getting sick of his voice squawking in her ear. A better sound replaced it when Gustave said, “She’s in shock.”</p><p>Confusion. Further proof to the hemorrhaging which decimated her body and mind. But she wasn’t confused. She knew exactly what she saw, and she also knew it made no sense. Coincidences be damned, there had to be a reason for it.</p><p>“Taina?” Gustave yelled from the other side of the room, expecting her to reply. But her tongue had run numb.</p><p>
  <em>Bang!</em>
</p><p>Smoke tumbled forward.</p><p>One flailing hand gripped for the wooden back of a chair, its pink cushion sprayed with his blood—nowhere near sufficient to support his weight or momentum.</p><p>They both collided noisily with the floor.</p><p>More shots ruptured through the wall. Valkyrie fired back like mad through the bullet pocked barrier. Once a satin-smooth silence returned, Valkyrie declared over comms, “Eight OPFOR.”</p><p>Gustave flicked loose the pouch on his chest with the pinch of two fingers. The last stim in hand, he loaded the autoinjector into the pistol’s chamber.</p><p>James limped away from Doc, and he held out an empty hand to stop him. “I’m fine. Save it.”</p><p>“We’re about to evacuate a bunch of hostages,” Valkyrie cut in. “We need all the able bodies we can get.” She reached down and flicked a knob on her radio to switch channels and speak to GOE members outside of the palace. She counted heads and paced alongside the tipped over dining table while broadcasting, “GOE. This is Valkyrie. Prepping for extraction. Have EMS on standby. We have a severely wounded operator.”</p><p>Gustave hesitated. Glove-covered index finger, doused in red like acrylic paint drenching a white canvas, curled around the trigger. Ready. Loaded. Only requiring the slightest pressure.</p><p>He shifted, turning to the left. “Caveira?”</p><p>Taina’s lips parted to reply, but any air in her lungs burned away before words could come out.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Smoke repeated, and he covered the bullet wound in his left thigh with one hand.</p><p>Stim pistol still aimed at Smoke, Gustave maneuvered around broken furniture until he could see her—squirming on the floor. Struggling to breathe. The chest pains resurfaced and escalated. Like a crowd had trampled her over and over in the exact same spot.</p><p>“Just do it,” she tried whispering. Only airy garbles came out. Her eyes wrenched close, and she prayed for the stabbing agony to pass.</p><p>“Cav?” Gustave called out.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Smoke repeated. “That shot’s her last hope. Don’t.”</p><p>Gustave’s eyes fluttered between James and Taina, then the hostages, then back to Taina. A deplorable choice. The hesitation, like an ailment, making him shake, distorting his inhales and exhales. “God,” Gustave moaned. His eyes slammed shut before he pulled the trigger.</p><p><em>Pop</em>.</p><p>Smoke’s sharp inhale morphed into a grunt—the adrenaline taking effect coalescing with rage.</p><p>“There’s nothing she can do,” Gustave whispered.</p><p>Too far-gone. Nothing to do except a binary of options: fight to survive or perish. Even that seemed out of her hands—a truth she still hadn’t reconciled with. Corroded grip still on her pistol; words still wanting to pour from her mouth like a tumultuous waterfall spraying droplets and refracting rainbows.</p><p>“A positive, Valk,” Gustave demanded. “Blood, plasma, platelets. And they need to do fluid resuscitation.” He hurried over to where Taina lay, putting away the now-defunct stim gun.</p><p>“The hospital is two blocks away,” Meghan replied.</p><p>Gustave sank to his knees at Taina’s side once more. Slanting over her, he plucked her left hand still half holding and half resting on her radio. He clutched her wrist, cradling her palm layered in blood and synthetic leather to his cheek. “<em>S’il te plaît, mon amour,</em>” he uttered, hushed. Tone fluctuating, elevating into something uncharacteristically lacking composure. “Don’t leave me. We’re so close.”</p><p>Dokkaebi and Sledge both entered the room. Something impossible for Taina to decipher, but she figured as much when Valkyrie hunched over the sideways table and began giving the petrified citizens orders to walk in a straight line and hold fast to each other. Black invaded Taina’s tunnelling vision. Arcane shadows spreading like a stain until it became too dark to see anything other than Gustave’s face right before her.</p><p>“Go,” she said.</p><p>“I don’t want to leave you alone.”</p><p>Taina tried smiling at Gustave, thumb brushing over his hidden lips, feeling them tremble.</p><p>They both knew he had to—of that Taina was certain.</p><p><em>Alone</em>.</p><p>How she did most things in life, the modus operandi of her very existence. But <em>God</em> did she not want to die alone...</p><p>Even more than that though, she didn’t want her final dying moments to be a grand act of pure selfishness.</p><p>It would take only one little word.</p><p><em>Stay</em>.</p><p>But she couldn’t. She refused.</p><p>“Finish this,” Taina breathed out.</p><p>The job wasn’t done yet. There were still the hostages, the civilians, and still the matter of the bomb, which threatened to kill everyone. Hers was low in the priority of life. Unlike those civilians, she knew entering the building that she may never exit it alive, ever dancing with the reaper. An agreement made every time she put that uniform on and bore those letters on her back. BOPE. And she needed her death to be worth something.</p><p>“<em>Vitória sobre a morte.</em>”</p><p>Gustave prodded at her neck for another pulse. Then he looked at the back of his hand, comparing the past readings and hating what he saw. He removed her hand from his face to assess her nails. Finding nothing but blood and ebony nail polish, he reached out his left hand. A sheet of sweat already began eating away at the black and white face paint. His thumb scrubbed away the paint from her lips, the layer of smudged grey revealing a purplish-blue underneath.</p><p>“Oh God,” he muttered.</p><p>Her hand escaped from his grip. She shoved at his chest with no force remaining in her.</p><p>“Go.”</p><p>It was time for both of them to go.</p><p>“I love you, Taina.” His voice died into a whisper. Gustave wrenched his eyes shut, and the tears erupted, spilling over and down from his eyes only to be wicked away and absorbed by the fabric of his balaclava. “Please hold on.”</p><p>Taina’s head bobbed for a nod. No promises, but she was prepared to die trying.</p><p>He placed what he could of a kiss to her palm—hollow without the touch of his lips. Gustave opened his eyes—red, glassy with agony and tears—and lowered her hand over her waning heart. He nodded back at her once, swallowing.</p><p>Then Gustave rose into a stand, shuffled around her body sprawled across the floor, and helped one of the traumatized civilians get up. “Let’s get you all home,” he said.</p><p><em>Goodbye</em>.</p><p>A thought. Or a statement, Taina couldn’t tell.</p><p><em>I love you</em>.</p><p>Abandoned and primally alone, she let her ascending tears go unbridled. Eyelids drooping. Body, giving into the void’s embrace. Her right hand relaxed, and the handle of her pistol slipped out of her palm—laid to rest.</p><p>They were both done.</p><p>“Holy fuck,” Hibana blurted over the radio. “I found it. I’m defusing.”</p><p>“Wait for me to back you up,” Maestro yelled.</p><p>“There’s no time!”</p><p>Taina gagged on the breath she couldn’t take, and she drowned in a thousand sounds: someone praying in Portuguese—a Fátima prayer; a loud, crackling bang followed by shattering glass; the hissing of smoke grenades; the beeping from a nearby phone as Hibana defused the bomb; Sledge shouting, “Move, move, move.”</p><p>A score of chaos for her solitary journey into the black velvet abyss, to the end of time.</p><p>
  <em>‘There’s nothing you have to do alone.’</em>
</p><p><em>Not alone</em>. She knew where and to whom she belonged—<em>home, here</em>—and she held fast to the belief that with them, in them, she may be by herself, but she was not alone. <em>Not even in death</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Before anyone potentially freaks out, I don't kill main characters, so rest easy! That being said, I have a proposition for you all: I got bored between editing and wrote some Doc POV scenes to fill in the time jump between this chapter and what was intended to be the next chapter. So my question is, do you lovely people want that posted? It would kind of interrupt the Cav narrative flow (which I’m sure is something I and I alone am concerned about). I was going to leave it out because it kind of is just filler and it’s definitely not top quality. But if you want some medic Doc followed by some sad Doc added, let me know and I’ll tack it on ASAP otherwise I’ll probably just upload the actual chapter next week. Thank you all again!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Stay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m glad most of you have said yes to the Doc POV content because I kid you not, this scene exists because my brain went: 1) Doc has paddles. 2) Doc never uses his paddles. 3) I must create a scenario where he has to use his paddles. And then I spent, like, seven hours over-researching exactly how defibrillation works, so I’m glad that wasn’t a waste. I tried to make it realistic-ish (read: unglamorous) and to commit to the scenario. Unfortunately it didn’t really come out exactly how I imagined it would and I kind of hate it a lot. However, it exists, and it’s here so I guess why not, but hopefully the next one will be better for you all!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Seamus wound up and swung his massive sledgehammer through the barricaded window. Wood blanks broke apart, combusting into a thousand pieces with one single <em>thud</em>. The window’s glass shattered with it. Sledge kicked out the rest of the frame and the remaining shards clattered onto the ground and the hardwood floor. “Move, move, move!”</p><p>Dokkaebi darted past him and vaulted out the window.</p><p>Two distinct hisses sounded from outside in the court yard.</p><p>Smoke grenades—cover while evacuating the hostages.</p><p>Sledge hopped out the window next, and Valkyrie, weapon still drawn and ready to fire, began yelling at the hostages to follow suit.</p><p>“Stay together,” Gustave said. Uttering different assurances as he ushered them into a stand even though he wasn’t certain they could even understand him. Just part of his nature. They filed out the window one by one. “You’re almost there,” he told a woman with blood spattered all over her blouse.</p><p>
  <em>Bang!</em>
</p><p>A bullet pierced into the east wall.</p><p>The hostages shrieked and panicked—stampeding over each other to get out the window first despite Meghan’s shouts for them to maintain order.</p><p>Gustave pivoted, MP5 raised.</p><p>A White Mask member charged into the room, tugging on the pump of his smoking shotgun.</p><p>
  <em>Bang!</em>
</p><p>James fired back at the first sight of movement. A guttural wail echoed, hollow. The man’s head thrashed back, spewing blood, grey matter, and pieces of the ruptured face mask into the air. He crumpled to the floor. “Seven OPFOR,” Smoke declared to the other operators.</p><p>A short burst of gunshots rang from outside next. “Six,” Nomad volleyed back.</p><p>The last civilian remaining—the old man with greying hair. The one who had tried so desperately to help despite being caught in a hostage situation. Gustave observed him hesitate and glance back over his shoulder, and he knew what at. Gustave forced himself to not follow the man’s gaze though. A hand bearing white latex crusted with Taina’s reddish-brown blood settled on the man’s shoulder. “Go,” Gustave told him.</p><p>When the man refused to move, Gustave gave him a gentle nudge. Valkyrie yanked the man closer to the window and pushed him out of the palace.</p><p>MP5 ready to fire, Gustave scanned the room quickly, listening for foreign movement. With no threats in sight, he lowered the gun and whirled back to where Taina lay.</p><p>Her eyes had closed, and she had gone completely still.</p><p>“<em>Non!</em>” Gustave rushed over, removing the gun’s strap from around his torso, and collapsed next to her limp body. “<em>Non, non, non!</em> Taina?”</p><p>Fingers delving into her blood-covered neck, he searched for a rhythm while leaning forward.</p><p>No respiration.</p><p>No pulse.</p><p>“<em>Merde!</em>”</p><p>Valkyrie dashed over with two fingers to her ear, listening to her radio. “Hostages are almost clear and then paramedics are coming.”</p><p>“She needs oxygen and a vasopressin— adrenaline.” Gustave unbuckled the long rectangular pouch secured to his vest, right under his paddles. They didn’t typically get much use—something in all honesty he was grateful for. But when the emergency called for it, they were critical to have.</p><p>And this was one of those moments.</p><p>Emptying the pouch's contents, he placed the portable electrocardiograph machine next to Taina, narrowly avoiding a small smear of her darkening blood soaking into the area rug. “Meghan, do CPR, please.”</p><p>Valkyrie followed his command without hesitating. She blurted her last message to GEO, relaying Gustave’s words for them to relay to the paramedics—a life or death game of telephone. Then she flicked the microphone of her headset up and out of the way. Kneeling down on the other side of Taina, Meghan tore every hindrance from her motionless chest—the old man’s suit jacket, the white tablecloth. Her quaking hands then unclipped the rig of magazines and ammunition across Taina’s chest blocking her way.</p><p>Tossing it aside, Meghan began compressions. Fingers interlocked. Counting each blow. “One. Two. Three—”</p><p>Every urgent move Gustave made blurred through time in his eyes. Turning the ECG on. Flicking the dials. His brain raced with organized chaos.</p><p>
  <em>Cardiac arrest.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ventricular fibrillation.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ventricular tachycardia.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Asystole.</em>
</p><p><em>Tissue death</em>—so much that could be going terminally wrong inside her body, all of it blasting through his thoughts.</p><p>And he had mere moments to identify and correct it. To save her.</p><p>His eyes drifted up to that familiar and comforting face streaked with paint and blood and tears.</p><p><em>Taina</em>…</p><p>Gustave blinked. <em>Focus.</em> He steered his blurry-eyed attention back to the ECG machine. Forcing himself to dissociate from the moment—the moment of her near-death, if only because loving her would hinder any attempts to preserve her life. Eyes closing, Gustave cranked the ECG machine's dial to its highest charge. 200 joules. His other hand rummaged through the pouch attached to his left thigh next and withdrew a pair of scissors.</p><p>“Move,” he ordered.</p><p>Meghan backed away from Taina to Gustave space.</p><p>Hands clenched on either side of the steel-coloured fabric, he ripped Taina’s bloodstained BOPE shirt apart, popping off most of the little buttons. Some remained intact though—a good last resort for modesty if defibrillation wasn’t a viable option. He spread the fabric away from her chest before taking up the scissors and chopping through the fabric of her tank top. Blood had poured down and hardened into almost the entire left side of it. He flicked the material away once again.</p><p>Next his fingers skimmed along the bare skin of Taina’s sternum and slipped up and under the thick black fabric of her sports bra. Scissors wedged in place, he resumed cutting.</p><p>“<em>What are you doing?</em>” James shouted while turning his head away. Staring down the iron sights of his shotgun, he rushed away towards the centre of the reception room.</p><p>“Oh, God,” Meghan mumbled.</p><p>“Keep doing compressions,” Gustave demanded. One last cut and the taut fabric snapped away, exposing Taina’s entire chest smeared in crimson.</p><p>All he hoped was that she’d survive to give him endless hell for it later.</p><p>That was better than the alternative.</p><p>Gustave unhooked his fingers from the scissor grips. Before he could hurl them aside, Valkyrie took them from him. “But she’s na—”</p><p>“Meghan, she’s dying! <em>Please</em>,” Gustave begged, voice cracking. Thick with sorrow.</p><p>Valkyrie nodded and leaned back over Taina, shoving down on her chest again.</p><p>Gustave rummaged through the long pouch once more, retrieving something else. A small tube. Thumb flicking up the cap, he removed the paddle strapped to his chest labelled <em>sternum</em>. With one squeeze, the bottle’s contents spurted onto the flat metal surface. Conductive gel. Green and thick. Dropping the bottle, Gustave swiped the other paddle from his vest. <em>Apex</em>. Both rubbing together, flicking globs of the substance off and sending droplets jetting to the side.</p><p>“Excuse me.”</p><p>Meghan sat back again to make way for Gustave.</p><p><em>‘Anterior. Lateral</em>,’ his mind recited. He placing each paddle in its respective spot—below her right collarbone and the left side of her ribs, the apex of her heart. The flat metallic surfaces, flush against her bared flesh.</p><p>“Move her arm for me,” he asked Meghan. He never looked at her though.</p><p>His eyes focused only on the ECG machine, waiting for it to spurt out a result—sporadic spikes, hilly waves, heaven forbid a flatline. Just something. <em>Anything</em>.</p><p>Anything that could tell him what he had to do so it could be done.</p><p>
  <em>Boom!</em>
</p><p>A grenade exploded somewhere nearby—a few rooms over.</p><p>The shockwaves travelled through the floor like ripples in a placid lake. Dust and debris trickled down from the gaping hole in the ceiling above them while gunshots continued and Maestro yelled something over the radio.</p><p>But Gustave never noticed.</p><p>The machine began beeping at him. Urgent but consistent. The complete opposite of the machine’s display—an erratic rhythm. Dozens of jutting neon green lines. Squiggles moving up and down and up in pure chaos. Non-sense.</p><p>To anyone else, at least. But to him, a story being told.</p><p>The story of his love’s heart, its bottom chambers quivering uselessly instead of beating and pumping whatever blood remained in her arteries.</p><p>The story of her approaching demise.</p><p>And the story of a chance. Ventricular fibrillation—a shockable cardiac arrest rhythm. A fate, changeable.</p><p>Gustave peered over at Meghan. She had stretched Taina’s arm out to the side and still clutched that bloody hand in her lap. “Stand clear,” he told her, already pressing down the button on the paddles to charge the defibrillator.</p><p>The machine wailed in preparation like a siren.</p><p>Valkyrie dropped Taina’s gloved hand. Backing away and getting into a stand instead. Looking frightened. Gustave ignored her expression of fear—there was already too much of that jetting through his veins. One quick glance was all it took to proceed; no one could be touching Taina for what he was about to do.</p><p>As the system charged, the noise increased.</p><p>Louder.</p><p>Lights flashed everywhere—the machine, the paddles. Red, green.</p><p>Higher pitched.</p><p>
  <em>‘All clear.’</em>
</p><p>Screaming until—<em>beep, beep, beep, beep, beep!</em></p><p>“Shocking!”</p><p>Both thumbs slammed down the flashing red buttons atop each paddle handle.</p><p>Electricity blasted through Taina’s body, right through her heart. Audible. Her chest, jolting skyward—dozens muscles contracting all at once—before she flopped back onto the floor.</p><p>Gustave rested both paddles atop the ECG machine. “Go watch for the paramedics, and tell me when they’re here."</p><p>Meghan swiped her MPX up off the floor and rushed to the window, peering outside.</p><p>“Seven OPFOR,” Buck declared over the radio.</p><p>Gustave unclipped his helmet. Half a movement, and it tumbled from his head and down his back and onto the floor with a hushed <em>thump</em>. He tore the black balaclava off next and tossed it wherever. Already leaning down. One gloved hand tilted Taina’s chin back. The other pinched off her nostrils—the white latex still marred with her blood and frantic scribblings of a spiralling heart rate hurtling towards cessation. He breathed two breaths into her. Lungs filling. Oxygen enough to keep her heart and brain cells surviving. <em>For now.</em></p><p>Sitting up, his one hand locked around the other. ‘<em>Base of the sternum. 5cm depth. 100 bmp</em>,’ he recited to himself again. And off he went. Hands, thrusting down on her chest.</p><p>“Come on, Taina,” he uttered, never slowing his compressions.</p><p>Consistent and continual. Assaulting her heart into beating.</p><p>Her body rocked with each press. The hair of her bangs shifted away from her face more and more each time. His eyes studied her. Praying for a sign.</p><p>For respiration.</p><p>For consciousness.</p><p>For life.</p><p>But her eyes remained sealed shut. Lips still discoloured to a deathly violet-blue.</p><p>“Please.” His quiet, desperate pleas shifted to French whispers. A secret. “<em>Please, my darling. Stay with me. Don’t go. You can’t leave me. Not yet. I need you.</em>” He willed himself to abstain from compressing down harder. Faster. To not concede to his own panic—to not let his anguish rule him or goad him into savagery.</p><p>James fired his shotgun out towards the hallway twice. “Six OPFOR.”</p><p>Meghan peeked out the windowsill and then turned to face their direction. “They’re here!”</p><p>“<em>Taina, please</em>,” Gustave begged, pushing down on her naked chest again.</p><p>A shout bellowed into the room. “<em>Where is she?</em>” Seamus—from outside in the courtyard, having escorted the paramedics to the window. Impatient. And waiting.</p><p>They all were.</p><p>“<em>Doc!</em>” James barked, trying to get his attention.</p><p>Not that he couldn’t hear, he just—couldn’t stop. He couldn’t. She needed a hospital, and he was but one man. He knew that. He knew all that, and yet…</p><p>To just let her go?</p><p>Possibly for forever.</p><p><em>‘I can’t,’</em> his mind screeched.</p><p>Eyelids wrenching shut, Gustave bit down on the whine laced with a sob threatening to rip free.</p><p>‘<em>You must</em>,’ something else told him.</p><p>His hands slipped off her chest, and he quickly blinked the tears away. “One of you help me lift her,” he commanded, shifting towards the top of her body.</p><p>Valkyrie sprinted back over. He wedged his hand underneath Taina’s neck to cradle her head, so Meghan wrapped her arms around Taina’s hips. Slipping his other arm under Taina’s back, his eyes locked with Meghan’s.</p><p>“One, two, <em>three</em>.”</p><p>They both ascended on three, lifting Taina up off the floor and into the air before shuffling together towards the busted open window. While Smoke held guard, Sledge poked his head into the room and backed away when they approached.</p><p>A rattling sound neared. Familiar, easily identifiable to Gustave as a wheeled stretcher.</p><p>“<em>Jesus</em>—what the fuck?” Seamus yelled at the sight of Taina’s completely exposed torso.</p><p>Two paramedics in bright highlighter yellow jackets ran up. One pushed the stretcher while the other nudged Sledge out of the way and supported Taina’s head. Gustave and Meghan both shifted and maneuvered Taina’s sagging body around, trying to lower her into their waiting arms. Both paramedics shifted her out of Gustave’s hold and secured her onto the stretcher.</p><p>The lead paramedic—experienced, well-seasoned; Gustave could tell. While his younger partner took his time readying an emergency survival blanket and prepping a gas mask hooked up to the canister of oxygen secured on the cot’s side rails, the lead paramedic worked efficiently. He strapped Taina in place without even looking—too busy examining her neck for further hemorrhaging and checking for a neck injury.</p><p>“She’s in VF,” Gustave told the man. “Can you understand me?”</p><p>While his fingers pressed against Taina’s neck, the older paramedic leaned forward—a respiration check—and nodded. “V-fib. <em>Sim, senhor</em>.”</p><p>The man’s thick bushy eyebrows suddenly furrowed. He jolted back upright.</p><p>“Is she agonal?” Gustave asked, looking Taina’s lifeless body for something he couldn’t see. He tried to listen for any type of breath—breaths of false hope. Nothing more than a brainstem reflex as it died. A herald of the end.</p><p>But there were too many sirens. Too many gunshots. Too many voices over the radios screaming about the seconds counting down before an explosion would damn them all to the great beyond.</p><p>Too much noise, he failed hear.</p><p>The paramedic shook his head. “A pulse! <em>Excelente!</em>”</p><p>He shot Gustave an approving nod and gave the stretcher a shove to wedge the wheels out of their ditches in the soil and perfectly green grass before rushing away.</p><p>“I'll begin post-ROSC care,” the other paramedic declared before swiping an auto-injector of what Gustave hoped was epinephrine.</p><p>Return of spontaneous circulation.</p><p>A hope. A true second chance to keep her alive.</p><p>
  <em>Dieu merci.</em>
</p><p>Dokkaebi held an angle towards the courtyard windows with Nomad and Buck watching from the rooftops. Sledge raised his L85 and ran alongside the paramedics who sprinted the stretcher off into the distance towards the gates of the palace, and he watched them all—watched Taina—fade into the distance.</p><p>Gustave’s hands clenched along the destroyed window sill. Sighing, his head dropped. Body trembling, tears surging up once more, he slammed his eyelids together, a futile endeavour to keep them at bay.</p><p>“Hey,” Valkyrie said. Gustave spun at the sound of her scratchy voice. The eye blacks striped across her cheeks had dissolved at the ends, and sweat glued blonde strands of hair to her face. Meghan forced a smile. “She’ll survive. She has to. Cav’s no quitter.”</p><p>Gustave nodded. Though her statement held truth, he also knew that at a certain point, one’s disposition stopped mattering to human anatomy, to biochemistry.</p><p>He brushed by Meghan, striding past the long table that had been flipped over to protect the hostages, only to come to a sudden standstill. Right above the empty space encompassed by macabre indications: the askew table cloth and jacket, her rig, countless droplets of blood on the floor, red smudges along the rose pink wall above one of the abandoned tactical backpacks. Her BOPE beret—when it fell off? Who knew. At his feet, Taina’s Luison next to his MP5.</p><p>“We need backup,” Maestro shouted over the radio.</p><p>“I’ll ring them to stall,” Dokkaebi said.</p><p>With nothing more to accomplish in the reception room, Valkyrie and Smoke both bolted out the exits, weapons raised.</p><p>Gustave surveyed his items. His paddles and ECG machine, still on, reading nothing. The small bottle of gel. A ball of black fabric—the balaclava. His helmet lay on its side further away. He crouched down, retrieving the weapon so distinctly Taina. His thumb flicked the safety into place. He unscrewed the suppressor from the muzzle, and with the attachment and pistol in his right hand, he reached down to open the drop leg pouch. Keeping them with him if he couldn’t keep her. Retrieving his submachine gun, he left the room too. <em>I have to keep going</em>; he could hear the echoes of her voice telling him so.</p><p>The job wasn’t done yet.</p><p>
  <em>‘Vitória sobre a morte.’</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Human</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey everyone! First off, I wanted to thank you to the power of 37 for all the responses lately. Particularly regarding posting that Doc chapter. I’m glad it went over well, and it makes me excited to potentially explore his point of view more in the future. And now for the apology…<br/>I had kind of indicated that there was a second Doc POV chapter, and it’s there, and it exists, but I’ve been doing some thinking about it, and it’s so just about Doc and his feelings that it just didn’t sit right with me to post it in this story, so I’m not going to be posting it—not right here or right now, at least. I went into this whole story wanting to focus on and explore Caveira as a character, and in my mind I can’t justify adding this second scene (sad Doc wallowing in the aftermath) the way I could the last scene (people fighting to keep her alive as proof that she can’t do everything alone and she doesn’t have to, etc.). On top of that, it’s not as developed as it could be, and I kind of want to add another scene to it, and just overall, I think it would be best to hold off on it for now. I feel bad for potentially getting your guys’ hopes up, but I hope you can understand my viewpoint on it. But with all that being said, I think after this story is done—which is coming so incredibly fast I kind of don’t know how to handle it—I’m going to take a short break. But after that break, I have almost fully committed to posting a collection of Cav/Doc one shots, and I swear that Doc scene will be the first one I post!<br/>tldr: I O U one (1) Doc scene.<br/>PS: Sorry this chapter is depressing and also shit... Have a good week, everybody!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A haunting amalgamation of distinct voices called to her at once—all screaming the same thing: <em>Open your eyes, Taina. </em>A hallucination. But she was bound to obey. Her eyelids peeled apart, the dehydrated fluids from her eyes crackling and shedding. It itched. Dimmed lights installed into the plain white ceiling still managed to incapacitate her vision. She raised her right hand to scrub the hardened chunks of sleep away. But something heaved at her arm, resisting her movements. She reached with her left hand instead, free and unrestrained, but then she froze. </p><p>Browning maroon caked her fingers so thick the skin appeared black in places—along the side of her index finger, in lines along the middle knuckles from the edges of her glove. It had somehow slipped underneath as well. Smeared reddish browns painted her palms. Her gaze shifted to discover that every part of her gear had disappeared—more than just her gloves. Her uniform. Her vest. Weapons. Everything. A gaudy blue polka-dotted hospital gown replaced them. She slipped an index finger under the collar, peeling it up half an inch to peek and confirm—only the colossal crimson stain, darkened and crusty now, along her left shoulder dressed her otherwise naked body. </p><p>A groan escaped Taina's cracked, almost-bleeding lips. </p><p>Her head lolled to the right to see what had been holding her back. A drip intravenous. The thin tube coiled down and along her arm, taped against her wrist. Its needle, embedded into a vein in the back of her hand. An image that refused to coalesce into sense.</p><p>Her attention drifted beyond the IV—to a desk on the far end of the room. On top, a sequence of items she had started to memorize: tongue depressors, swabs, cotton balls, a box of latex gloves. Next to the desk, the predictable black and chrome chair. Tucked against the wall—long since forsaken. ‘<em>But by whom?’</em> she wondered—worried. Gustave’s white lab coat hung in the air from a peg sticking out near the corner. </p><p>A dull tugging radiated through the side of her neck where she had been grazed.</p><p>Her head rotated back to the left. The less visually engrossing side of the room. Just duplicate beds and shadows and barren space except—</p><p>One sharp, jagged gasp stole the breath from her lungs, leaving a blunted ache behind.</p><p>Shoved right up beside her hospital bed, a second cot. White sheets and pillow all in place. But atop both lay Gustave. Right there. Facing her—eyes closed; dry lips slightly parted; a permanent scowl on his face even in slumber. His complexion, blanched by fatigue. Out like a light.</p><p>A sight confirming her incomprehensible fear.</p><p><em>Oh fuck</em>, Taina thought. <em>I’m alive.</em></p><p>She hadn’t planned for that.</p><p>And it was clear she didn’t know how to cope with that either.</p><p>A tingling, electric rush pulsed through her blood from her feet to her fingertips. That age-old response. </p><p>
  <em>Run.</em>
</p><p>Taina shot up into a sitting position, the thin and coarse sheets falling to her waist. She spun and kicked her legs free from them. Vertigo struck harder than a punch in the face. She clawed at the grey clip clamped around her fingertip and attached to the heart rate monitor. Struggling to remove it. Her joints all stuck in place, jammed. Red, trembling fingers stripped the piece of tape from her wrist next and then from her hand. The motion jerked the needle impaled in her skin. Taina winced but stifled the ascending yelp. One long inhale prepped her and then in a single, swift motion, she slipped the needle out of her vein. A large bead of blood ballooned from the injection site.</p><p>The cannula’s fluid from the intravenous leaked down onto her thigh. A steady drip, soaking her tissue paper-esque hospital gown and freezing the skin underneath.</p><p>She searched the tall metal stand for some kind of switch. A button. Something to make it stop—a plan rapidly abandoned. With a cautious grip, she hooked the needle around the length of the tube and looped it back through. Loosely in formation, she tugged, tightening the knot and ceasing the dribbles. <em>Good enough</em>. Taina hopped off the bed. Any recollection of how it felt to stand evaded her, and she stumbled under her own weight. The stabbing pain in her left thigh only worsened that endeavour. She staggered over to Gustave’s desk. Red droplets on the linoleum marked her trail. Documents lay piled up atop the desk, a mountain of results and readings and his own handwritten notes. Taina plucked the silver lid off a jar—the one brimming with compacted cotton balls. She stole one, abandoning the lid on his papers to avoid the risk of making any further noise.</p><p>Cold air wafted against her exposed backside, shocking and horrible. She reached both hands towards her back in search of the hospital gown’s strings. For some way to conceal her body. A movement that shredded her muscles into nothingness. </p><p>Eyes wrenching shut, Taina’s shaky exhale wheezed out. That plan wouldn’t work.</p><p>Her sights shifted to the right and once again caught the bright white lab coat hanging on the wall. It would do. Taina ripped the garment off the silver hook, slipping it on and rushing over to the door at the same time before she wrenched on the door knob once—denied. </p><p>
  <em>Damn it.</em>
</p><p>Taina flicked the latch to unlock it and flung the door open.</p><p>And then she ran. Or something like it.</p><p>A crackling sound ruptured from her knees at the exertion, but she hobbled her way down the hallway regardless. The cotton ball pressed to her hand soaked up fresh blood leaking from where the needle had been, but it did nothing for the rest of the blood. Blood that already escaped, gliding down the back of her hand and dripping off her ring finger speckled with small nicks and scabs and onto the hallway floor. Every part of her body hurt—not a single thing felt right. Pulsing aches all over her skin. Weary bones. Sinew and tendons ready to snap like stretched out rubber bands. Too much to withstand.</p><p>Her stance slanted. Every step off-kilter from the next until she bumped against the brick wall on her right. A burn fanned out from her upper arm, and she flinched. She’d have cursed, but even her tongue felt dry, weathered to an ache. </p><p>Right hand flittering into the chilly air, only an inch or two from her face, she peeled the cotton ball from her skin.</p><p>Nothing but a small little circle. No longer a hole spewing blood, a tiny hardened lump clogged it up now. Which left her free to move. Clenching the cotton ball in her hand instead, she reached over and grazed her fingers over the epicentre of that fresh hot pain in her bicep. Between the gown and Gustave’s lab coat, she felt nothing. So she pressed down harder. Fingertips, jamming into her skin. Searching. Digging until she could feel each individual stitch pulling at her flesh.</p><p>Her body rippled in agony.</p><p>Taina stopped moving—her legs needed a break, especially her left thigh. The muscle throbbed like it was ready to implode upon itself. She rolled over, jamming her back against the wall instead of her arm, but even that summoned a dull soreness. Yanking up the hospital gown’s hem, she peered down at the small sewn up wound where a shotgun pellet lodged into her thigh, the cause of her limp. A mess of black thread and angry hot red skin. </p><p>The uniform she had been wearing was certainly a lost cause between all the rips and tears and cuts and blood, but her mind couldn’t help wander: <em>where is all my gear? Where the hell is my gun? If my suppressor is missing I’m going to be pissed,</em> which not even the rational part of her mind could comprehend as a better of two options.</p><p>
  <em>You’re supposed to be dead.</em>
</p><p>Her stomach flipped upside down. </p><p>
  <em>Run.</em>
</p><p>Taina trudged over to the wall on the left side, and, feeling no immediate blast of pain, she continued making her way to the dorms. Zig zagging down the hall. Straying into the center and then falling back against the wall when she needed the additional support. And she disregarded the subconscious pest asking, ‘<em>What are you running for?’</em> the entire time.</p><p>Audible traces of activity in the gym bled through the hallway. Raucous bustling. Thuds and chatter and metallic clanks from machinery bellowed in the silence around her. Taina upped the speed of her frantic stumble to avoid being caught. A streak of a fear—cold chills.<em> No one can see me like this.</em> Hand braced against brick, hushing her laboured breaths, she made it all the way to the dorm building. Just. Barely past the kitchen and unable to take much more, her entire form collapsed against the wall where the hallway forked, leading to the bedrooms. Almost safe. Her face, smooshed against the old wall. Its coldness soothed the sweat she had worked up. More of a sweat anyone should summon by merely walking. </p><p>‘<em>Something’s still wrong with me.’</em></p><p>“Cav!”</p><p>Taina heaved herself away from the wall to stand upright and feign something close to normalcy.</p><p>She spun around and saw Buck standing in the kitchen. He wore black gym shorts and a drenched navy RCMP t-shirt; black earbuds still blasting music hung around his neck and dangled over his chest. “You’re okay!”</p><p>She briefly wondered how the operation had wrapped up. <em>Is everyone else okay? Did the hostages survive? What happened with the bomb?</em> Taina grabbed the edges of Gustave’s lab coat and bundled herself tighter in it. “Mhm.”</p><p>The ghastly pallor of her face indicated otherwise. That and the sweat and the smear of blood against lab coat's bright white fabric tipped Buck off enough to ask, “Should you be up and about?”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“Did Doc clear you?”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>Taina whirled around and, grabbing onto every corner and every doorframe as a crutch, made a break for the hallway before Sébastien could argue. She shambled all the way to the bedroom, and safely inside, her body tumbled against the door to seal it shut. Sore, bleary eyes scanned the room. The exact same as she had left it. Stepping deeper into the center, peering around, she felt out of place. Like she wasn’t supposed to be there. A puzzle piece from the wrong set never meant to fit.</p><p>She unclenched her hands that at some point had balled into fists. Cotton fluff snagged on the dried blood caking her fingertips. Only a flick of the hand separated it from her skin. It sailed through the air and settled on the corner of her desk. Taina joined it, walking up to the desk with its mirror until her legs banged against the wood, paying no attention; the reflection in the smudged mirror held her eyes captive. Mesmerized, Taina watched the other her reach for her pistol just to clutch at air. It was absent. Also missing in action, her knife. She felt empty without them. Vulnerable. Her posture corroded into a defeated slouch. She brushed a hand against her sallow face instead. The dozens of little scabs dusting her fingers rasped at her cheek. Most of the paint had been scrubbed away save for alternating lines along the curve of her jaw, the blackened inner corners of her eyes, and along her hairline. Stained into place. The pitch black and pure white only highlighted the sickly, yellow tinge of her skin. Layer after layer she stripped down—shrugging Gustave’s lab coat off her shoulders, letting the hospital gown slip down and away. Clad in nothing but bare skin, spotlights of natural morning light shone on the damage done.</p><p>Dustings of violet bruises. The blood from her neck had made it all the way down to her left armpit and her left breast. Something about her appeared emaciated, but not from some kind of shedding of body mass—below the surface. Something subtle had grown diseased there. Something on the inside destroying her like a parasite consuming its host. </p><p>The examination of her own body resumed, both hypnotizing and harrowing.</p><p>Her scabbed over IV puncture; the black surgical stitches sewn into her neck, her thigh, and her arm; the bandages; the ounces of blood she would have needed based on how much of it had stained her clothes and her skin and how much of it had puddled on the floor at the palace. All of it everywhere it shouldn’t have been. A thousand signs—proof—of people having fought their hardest to keep her alive. <em>Because you couldn’t fend for yourself,</em> she chided internally. <em>Couldn’t keep yourself out of trouble for once.</em></p><p>Just another thing she had tried to do alone and failed.</p><p>‘<em>There’s nothing wrong with that,</em>’ something in the back of her mind said, but she tuned that voice out. <em>Liar.</em></p><p>Two enflamed, rectangular red marks were burned into her skin—by her right collarbone and by her left waist. The shape of defibrillator paddles, a horrible sign to try and fathom. But some inane part of her had to be sure. Right hand over her chest, she checked. <em>Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.</em> Alive. <em>How?</em> Her left middle finger traced one of the singed lines crossing over her rib cage until the stinging made her nauseous. Counting each sign and adding them up until that sum broke her. Taina’s eyelids screwed together, trampling the tears begging to fall. </p><p><em>You should be happy</em>, she told herself. <em>Not feeling… this.</em></p><p>And she was. Somewhere. Buried deep under all the other feelings overwhelming her like a rogue wave in the Arctic Ocean, she was happy. Thankful. Relieved.</p><p>And yet, she couldn’t stop feeling <em>this</em>, whatever <em>this </em>was. It refused to leave her alone.</p><p>She couldn’t take it.</p><p>Shunning the mirror, Taina dressed herself in baggy sweatpants, a loose t-shirt, and an oversized hoodie. But being more comfortable did nothing to silence the subliminal chant resounding within her.</p><p>
  <em>Run.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Run.</em>
</p><p>Run where? From what?</p><p>She didn’t know, but she listened. </p><p>
  <em>Run.</em>
</p><p>She bundled Gustave’s lab coat into a ball, tucked it under her right arm, and flung the door open, leaving it so as she struggled into the hallway. Eyes glazed over, possessed by numbness, she rushed away with no real aim. Where was there to go?</p><p>The mouth-watering scent of cooking bacon wafted from the kitchen. Saltiness and fat. A herd of voices rang out as well, drowning the sound of sizzles. She deviated left instead, evading the commotion, and continued down the other hallway of dorms. Thoughtless. Her body had memorized the number of paces required. Taina ripped open the door to Gustave’s bedroom. Never stopping for a second to consider who may see her or hear the door slamming shut behind her. </p><p>Another room untouched. As if preserved in time and space. The items on his desk, in perfect order. His bed, which she strode over to—made with pristine edges, wrinkle free. Why that came as a surprise? She hadn’t the slightest clue. The way she had found was indicative of everything. The image trickled into sight within her mind’s eye. The unhappiness in his face. The way his entire body seemed to grow increasingly exhausted even while he slept; she knew she had left a hell of a disaster for him to fix. His awful, uncomfortable hospital bed pulled up right next to hers. Watching over her. Never leaving her side.</p><p>And then she ran away. Again.</p><p>Taina’s fingers kissed the beige comforter. In one flinch, her quaking hand clenched a fistful of it. Strangling it. Destroying its order.</p><p><em>One of these days you’re going to run</em>, she told herself, <em>and he isn’t going to come after you. </em></p><p>Though this was not one of those times, of course. That she knew. If she she wasn’t his— ‘<em>His what?’</em> she mused. ‘<em>His girlfriend? His lover? His burden?’</em> Whatever it was, it was irrelevant. He could despise every fibre of her being and he’d still come after her in her current state. At the end of the day, she was still his patient and nothing she did or said could compromise that. Taina let her pathetic body collapse, still gripping the blankets, until she landed in a sit on the floor. Left leg kicked out to cease the horrible burn of stitches under stress in her thigh, she pulled her right knee up to her chest to await the inevitable. There were so many of those. So many things. Out of reach, beyond influence.</p><p>Chaos.</p><p>Taina rested her head on Gustave’s wrinkled and scrunched up lab coat, the item serving as a makeshift pillow. She could smell him in it—a distinct comforting scent woven between the threads. She swore she brought it to return to him and yet, sitting there on the floor, she clung to it like a child clings to a security blanket. That one item that helped them sleep at night. The one that somehow kept all the monsters at bay. Trying not to tremble, she buried her face in the fabric. </p><p>A flurry of frenetic footsteps suddenly vibrated through the floorboards. </p><p>That tune told her everything she needed to know. Percussion to a melody of volleying voices. She sat up straight, spine aligning with the bed frame, unaware how much time had even passed. Enough to have the pain begin seeping deeper into her body, inside the wet marrow of her bones.</p><p>Her eyes locked on the door.</p><p>Staring.</p><p>Occasionally blinking.</p><p>Waiting. </p><p>Well-paced thuds drew closer but somehow lost their energy. The soft <em>click</em> never registered to her ears, and though she observed the door opening, she didn’t really see. Not the troublesome edge eclipsing his typically serene demeanour. Not the stress visibly weighing on his every muscle. Nor the concerned, welling eyes she never thought she’d be blessed to gaze into again.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she whispered. </p><p>Short of breath, Gustave entered the room and closed the door behind him. </p><p>Taina readjusted her embrace of his lab coat. “I just needed to be alone.”</p><p>A half-truth. But then, a half-lie as well. </p><p>She kept her attention to the outskirts of him—from his clenched hands to the sweatpants and t-shirt clinging to his body. Clean, bloodless. Telling her he had at the very least gotten the time to change. Maybe shower. <em>How long have I been out? </em>she pondered, amongst other thoughts. Had she had been unconscious the entire time? Was she asleep? She couldn’t remember dreaming. </p><p>Gustave walked over to where she sat bundled up on the floor until he could get no closer. And then, without a single utterance, he settled onto the floor right next to her. His interlaced fingers settled between his raised knees. Head, drooping down. </p><p>Despite their proximity, they never made physical contact. Steering clear of each other. </p><p>The silence festered. A dozen threads of words bled through the walls from the kitchen and common’s area. Indecipherable. Barely audible. </p><p>Taina glared at one solitary spot on the floor. The tiniest scuff mark in the hardwood. Comatose. Trying to not let herself suffocate in all the memories the room possessed. Her first ever taste of him, the feel of him. Losing command of her entire sham of a life in the hunt for control. The fire in his voice when he asked, ‘<em>Are you sure about this?’</em> like she hadn’t already irrevocably become his. France. ‘<em>Taina, I—</em>’</p><p>“What happened?” she asked before the thoughts murdered her.</p><p>A wavering exhale departed his lips, and finally, Gustave craned his neck to look over at her. “What specifically are you referring to?”</p><p>His voice shocked her—tingles. More everything than she remembered, hazed memories betraying her. Rockier, warmer, more velvety. More real. <em>Everything</em>. Something she took pleasure in. </p><p>Taina laid her other leg down, letting them both stretch out. The fabric of her baggy grey sweatpants pooled on the floor and wicked away the sweat gathering in her palms when she scrubbed her hands over her hips. That combination smeared the faintest bit of reddish brown over the material. Eventually she managed to shrug—not even certain what she was referring to herself. “Did we find the bomb?”</p><p>“We did.”</p><p>“It got diffused?”</p><p>Leering at the wall across from them, just as detached as she was, Gustave gave a weak nod. “Just in time.”</p><p>“And the hostages made it out okay?”</p><p>“<em>Oui.</em>”</p><p>“Is everyone else okay?”</p><p>“<em>Oui</em>.”</p><p>Taina glanced over at Gustave. “Are you?”</p><p>Her eyes surveyed every detail of the man sitting next to her. Hands—dry, appearing on the verge of cracking but otherwise unscathed. Dressed in a t-shirt, his forearms and the majority of his biceps showcased perfect skin, dark hairs, old scars, and slightly protruding veins. Nothing more. </p><p>With a deep breath, she dared to even check his face thankfully not turned her way.</p><p>No physical injuries to be found. </p><p>Gustave reached over for the hand resting on her thigh. Her eyes darted, observing his fingers lacing in between hers and holding onto her, fastening their hands together. The feeling of his stare, like some kind of oily shroud draped over her. Guilt, for daring to ignore him.</p><p>In her peripheral vision she caught another glimpse of his face. Enough to break her.</p><p>Taina raised her head and beheld him. Staring him dead in the eye, and <em>God </em>did it hurt. She was certain any real wounds laid underneath, beyond what could visually be observed. Beyond his bloodshot eyes. His sinking eyebrows. The shadow of a grimace. Despite all that though, she could tell by the look on his face, by his hand clasping hers, what his answer was—he was okay because she was okay.</p><p>His voice twisted into a whimper. “I was so worried about you.”</p><p>Taina bit down on the inside of her cheek. Whether he was referring to those moments in Lisbon, the last ones before the complete decay of her memory, or even just moments ago, who knew? She imagined it from his point of view: knowing she teetered into the realm of death, saving her life, only to wake up to find she had left him. Again, like before. All that remained—a vague trail of blood.</p><p><em>‘I should never have left</em>.’ She hated herself for what she had done. ‘<em>Some things really never change... especially you.’</em></p><p>Water welled in his already red eyes, the rich dark brown irises reflecting light like fragile glass. Those eyes fluttered shut, capturing any teardrops threatening to fall, just as his lips began to tremble. Any obscurity in the intention of his words degenerated when he whispered, “I was scared you wouldn’t make it.”</p><p>
  <em>Me too. </em>
</p><p>She tightened her grip on his hand and her hold around his coat, eyes drifting shut. Desperate to maintain control of her feral emotions. </p><p>“Are you alright?” he asked. </p><p>Her eyes snapped back open at the sound of Gustave’s voice beckoning her once more, but she focused on her bloody fingers laced through his. “You’re the doctor,” she said. “You tell me.”</p><p>“I don’t mean like that.”</p><p>She nodded. “Of course I am.”</p><p>“Why did you leave then?”</p><p>“You should know me by now.” Taina formulated an artificial grin and bore it proudly despite still avoiding his glance. <em>That’s what I do</em>, she thought. “Not even almost dying is going to keep me in a hospital bed.”</p><p>She forced herself to laugh. </p><p>The issue hadn’t been almost dying. No reason for it to be; it wasn’t her first brush with death. Far from the first time she got shot, wondering if that would be the end of her. Not the first time she lay hurt and injured and bleeding out, wondering if medical attention would arrive in time either. <em>Memento mori</em>. Everyone is born to die, and she was no exception. Fated. None of that ailed her though. She had accepted her fate. Relinquished all control. But consigning to such a fate only to be robbed of deliverance… It was like climbing to the tops of the highest tower and then getting punted off all the way back to the bottom. Some sick kind of purgatory where her dying moments—her weakest moments—like her own blood tattooed over her hands, remained, inescapable. Her most powerless moments. Ones filled with shame and sorrow and failure and emotion and—</p><p><em>Why is that such a bad thing?</em> something in her asked. </p><p>Taina looked over at Gustave. The jet black and silver strands on the right side of his head jutted out from a disrupted sleep. Every inch of his face, weathered and wearied. Bags and wrinkles and something dangerously close to distrust in his eye. </p><p><em>What now? </em>She had been through hell and it was like she had to wake up and do it all over again.</p><p>‘<em>I’m lost.</em>’</p><p>Her head shook back and forth beyond control.</p><p>“I panicked,” she confessed to him.</p><p>Her bottom lip quivered, on the verge of succumbing. Fine and then—ruins. She crumbled against him, burying her face in Gustave’s shoulder. Breathing him. Feeding off his warmth. Both arms circled around his right bicep, and she clung to him. Doing everything to not cry. Gustave shifted. His fingers combed through her hair, cradling her head against him, and he grazed his lips along her forehead. Taina held him tighter. A complete surrender to the moment and her own frailty. Maybe for once she’d find the sense within to forgive herself for it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Regret</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taina’s glazed over eyes fixated on a random pleat in the dull blue privacy curtain surrounding her hospital bed. The occasional blink tortured her—eyeballs aching, lids sore and ever-so-slightly swollen. Even her face started to hurt. Not the same hurt as her leg, riddled with stitches she had overexerted or the stitches in her arm she had prodded at and wriggled her fingers between. The type of pain that served a nuisance—the skin of her face burned and stung and itched all at the same time.</p><p>Pain she brainwashed herself into believing was caused by something—anything—other than crying.</p><p>After spending an indeterminate amount of time with Gustave on the bedroom floor trying to get over whatever the hell they had just been through, he escorted her back to med bay, and somehow she found herself feeling a million times worse. Hours had wasted away. Her only markers for the passage of time were by her own allocation: operators getting checks up after Operation Ghost River—first Hibana, then Buck, and then Sledge, and then Smoke—memorizing each of their wounds; Emma bringing her light, unfulfilling yet still wholly appreciated meals. Sometimes she’d count the drips of her intravenous. Between those unremarkable events, she pretended to sleep. Or she’d stare at the dusty, water-stained ceiling, suffocating the same perpetual thought trying to swallow her whole: ‘<em>I don’t think I can do this.’</em></p><p>Taina scrunched her eyes shut to kill the light. Uneasiness coiled through her gut, thorned and toxic. Acidic enough to send both bile and salty chicken broth jutting back up her throat. Her mouth watered, on the verge of vomiting. </p><p>Metal scraped against metal—sharp, discordant, and ear-piercing. Her eyes shot back open again, and Gustave loitered right beside her bed, one hand still holding back the pale blue curtain. Tired yet paradoxically lively brown eyes hit her. Once again on the job, he had changed. Back into the dark navy GIGN uniform, which clung, tight and snug around his waist and his wrists from the elastic bands, and a brilliant white lab coat—different from the one she had stolen and subsequently bled onto. The zipper tag of his coveralls wobbled in reaction to the slightest of movements. Finally he let go of the curtain. His hands, still bearing latex gloves, settled onto the edge of her bed. Nowhere near touching her. Not even her hand, but close enough she could feel the pressure shift on the cardboard-like mattress underneath her. “How are you doing?”</p><p>Taina had to squint in order to look up at him. The ceiling lights drilled into her vision and glowed around him like some kind of aura or halo, manifest goodness.</p><p>“Do I have to spend the night here?”</p><p>“You want to sleep in your room,” Gustave said knowingly with a sigh, not even bothering to phrase it as a question.</p><p>Taina nodded.</p><p>He pivoted and marched over to his desk. In one fluid maneuver, he picked up a clipboard of her charts, spun back around, and began flipping through the documents, leaning back against the wooden edge of his desk. Page after page he flipped. In search of what? Taina had no idea. All she could do was bite her lip and cross her fingers for something affirmative. Accompanied by a second sigh, Gustave set the clipboard down and returned to her bed. This time he shifted to check the vitals monitor. Deciphering multicoloured lines and monotonous beeps and a scrambling of numbers, he grimaced. </p><p>Taina could only imagine the warfare of thoughts, a weighing of risks and potential complications, raging through his mind. </p><p>His eyes flickered, and then suddenly his stare left her frozen in time. A stare accented by the frown tainting his face: eyebrows sinking, furrowed, the corners of his lips tugging down, jaw taut and clenched shut. </p><p>She fiddled with the edge of the scratchy and pathetically thin sheet draped over her chest. “Please?”</p><p>Gustave sighed one more time.</p><p>A <em>final</em> time—she could hear the defeat in this one.</p><p>“Yeah, okay,” he whispered while nodding. Gustave reached over to fiddle with her intravenous before quickly retrieving a cotton ball and an adhesive bandage. “But you’re checking in with me in the morning.”</p><p>Taina bobbed her head once more, non-verbally agreeing to his terms. Whether or not she’d actually follow through…</p><p>“By the way, Harry stopped in. He wanted to speak with you—but <em>only</em> when you’re doing better.”</p><p><em>Oh</em>. Taina pouted. She didn’t realize Harry had stopped by. Had she fallen asleep? She remembered everyone who came into med bay—first Hibana, then Buck, and then Sledge, and then Smoke.</p><p>Maybe she had done all that not-crying when she was asleep too.</p><p>Gustave’s steady hands peeled off the medical tape and withdrew the cannula and its needle from inside her vein with a grace and calmness polar opposite to the way she had yanked it out earlier. A quick shift, and he immediately compressed the ready-to-go cotton ball to the small hole in her skin leaking blood.</p><p>“Press,” he told her.</p><p>She did as told, holding the cotton ball in place with two fingers while Gustave readied a bandage. After a few seconds, he swiped the cotton ball from the back of her hand and replaced it with a bandage. Methodic. Both thumbs scrubbed over the adhesive wings until they flattened to her skin, secured. But even then, the pressure only deviated, never actually diminishing, because his hand moved to carefully grip onto hers. His other hand behind her back, he helped Taina sit up and eventually ease into a wobbly stand. The bed's metal skeleton creaked in her absence.</p><p>“Are you going to be okay?” Gustave asked. “Shall I walk you there?”</p><p>“I’ll be fine.”</p><p>She let her hands linger on his forearms—for reinforcement, a crutch—despite the rippling electricity soaking through her flesh. A tactile journey up his biceps woven of muscle ensued. His warmth, bleeding through the barrier of fabric separating them like it was nothing. Never enough.</p><p>A grimace twisting his lips persisted.</p><p>“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Really.”</p><p>Gustave sighed—not really believing but willing to concede. “Alright.”</p><p>Taina reached out and caressed his face. Along his defined, angular jaw, her palm kissing the skin of his cheek. A mechanism of her own design, forcing her to be grateful that she even got to experience him again—to indulge in the wonder of him just once more. The tips of her fingers flicked at sprouts of white hair near his temple, tucking the long-enough strands behind his ear. Gustave’s breaths waltzed over her face like a summer breeze over a flowering field. Such a sensation crumbled her willpower to dust.</p><p>“Uhm…” She swallowed the coarse nothing in her mouth so hard a dull ache endured—anything to stifle the quivers fighting to overtake her lower lip. “And I’m sorry.”</p><p>“For what?” Gustave asked, head tilting to the side.</p><p>“Earlier.”</p><p>Her sights swept over the floor under their feet, marred with streaks. Residual minerals and evaporated water from the mop that had cleansed the area, a finishing touch after her blood had been wiped away and the linoleum sanitized.</p><p>“I didn’t mean to—” Taina’s hand, on a tender trip down Gustave’s defined and carved chest. Hovering over his stuttering heart—a beautiful rhythm. Her eyes fluttered shut. “I just… got overwhelmed.”</p><p><em>‘Still am,’</em> she thought. Certainly not as much as before; the sands of time had smothered a majority of her hysteria’s flames, and though that fire no longer raged on like a wildfire, its residue lingered. Soot and burns and ashes. There. Haunting her, staining her mind. Leaving her derailed.</p><p>“I understand,” Gustave said, and he draped his gloved hand over hers, the latex chilling her skin. “And that’s completely normal, Taina.”</p><p>That tone in his voice—he could see right through her. Still, as always.</p><p>She still couldn’t comprehend how he didn’t abhor what he saw though.</p><p>Taina coerced herself into emitting a feeble nod regardless.</p><p>Gustave inched forward enough to brace his hand against the back of her head. His other arm hooping around her waist, he cradled her face into the crook of his neck, their bodies flush, in a delicate embrace. Taina hooked her arms under his, gripping tightly onto his shoulders, clutching him. Snuggling closer. Breathing him in. His embrace, her own safe harbour. “Goodnight,” he whispered into her hairline, exhale tickling her ear. “I hope you sleep well.”</p><p>‘<em>Gustave… Just in case.</em>’</p><p>Eyelids slamming together, she surrendered to the recollections swamping her, choking her.</p><p>‘<em>I love you.</em>’</p><p>And it was true. But so were a handful of other things she had to contend with. The guilt. Humiliation. Failure. A future in flames before her.</p><p>
  <em>I can’t do this anymore.</em>
</p><p>Taina broke away. Sudden and brash, completely rupturing the perfect solace. Stepping back, spurred by a gut-wrenching need to move, both hands traced lines back down his arm from his bicep to his wrist, her fingertips briefly locking with his. Her eyes flickered up and peered into his, and she let him go. “You too.”</p><p>But the thought, the memory, pervaded her mind once more like an unrelenting fog. <em>Just in case... </em>Taina leaned forward, taking another deep breath of the man before her, before scrubbing her lips against cheek.</p><p><em>‘He deserves better than this anyways</em>,’ she figured. ‘<em>Certainly better than you.</em>’</p><p>With that, Taina left med bay. Taking her time ambling all the way back to the dorms and to her bedroom, but she did so without any further assistance. Safe and sound in the raw solitude, the pitch black nocturnal hours decayed while she tried not to think. About what she was about to do. About how for the first time ever she felt grateful that Gustave hadn’t been there with her. Not in those moments, because thinking about what she was about to do while he was laying there at her side would have crucified her. The entire night, flames of guilt and shame licked at her while she stared at the ceiling, catatonic in her own realization—<em>I have to do this.</em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Sleep remained elusive. Not that she cared—it didn’t matter. <em>Nothing matters</em>. Once she deemed it a less than ungodly hour—once there was enough weak morning light breaking into her room and stinging her eyes—she slithered out of bed. The same sweatpants, the same t-shirt. All she did was yank her sweater back on, and that was good enough. One quick rampage through her room: tearing open the closet, snatching articles off hangers, wrenching open drawers, plucking at items. And then, arms full, she left her bedroom. Onto the next step. Wandering though the hallways, going through motions while forcing her thoughts to remain mute. </p><p>A perk to Hereford Base being an expired, debilitated hunk of concrete and brick? Everything was easy to break into.</p><p>A good twist of a bobby pin and then—<em>click</em>. Taina popped open the door to a pitch black med bay. She quickly tapped the light switch on. Every bulb suspended from the ceiling hesitated like it would rather die than have to emit light before finally turning on. Light eventually flooded the room. What didn’t creep up on her: the typical sterile, ammonia odour. The stench, all at once in her nose and filling her lungs. Taina strolled over to Gustave’s desk. Such an odd sensation being there alone without him. Sacrilege.</p><p>And yet she didn’t want to leave.</p><p>She knew once she did she wouldn’t come back.</p><p><em>Don’t think about it</em>, some foreign voice convinced her. </p><p>The desk surface had been cleared off of all documents and papers that had bombarded it the day before. Documents she later found out she had bled all over. Taina kneed the wheeled stool out of the way so she could stand directly in the middle. With cautious movements, she lowered the items tucked under her arm. Mesmerized by absolute nothingness, numb hands folded the dark grey trousers and shirt of her uniform. Beret. She’d have topped it all off with her suppressor too, but she still had no idea where it was. In Portugal for all she knew. <em>Whatever... it serves no further purpose anyways</em>, she thought. <em>Not anymore.</em> As a substitute, a knife. Of the many hunting knives, combat knives, and other styles of knives she could have left, Taina selected the switchblade. Unassuming. Inconsequential in the collect, yet still of significance. <em>That</em> switchblade, the one she had clung to during those dire moments after returning from Bolivia before she recklessly clung to Gustave instead. </p><p>All of her, organized in a neat stack upon his desk. </p><p>All of it, what would remain of her. </p><p>And then Taina fled to the door before reconsiderations could set her straight. Lights off, lock engaged, she sealed the door shut on the way out and made her way to Harry’s office. An arduous journey, especially when it came to the stairs—so much so that before even approaching his office, she took a break down the hallway. The physical source evaded her. All transfusions and procedures had been a success. She chalked it up to fatigue, exhaustion.</p><p>Insomnia, madness. </p><p>On the other side of her strifes, the source was her darkest thoughts wasting the hours burning her alive.</p><p><em>Just get it over with</em>, she thought, trying to coax herself into a real commitment. </p><p>She marched on forward up to Harry’s wide open door. </p><p>The agency's director had his nose in the heart of a manila folder chock-full with documents. The cover of the folder—stamped with the Rainbow logo, hollering in boldface lettering: Operation Ghost River. An entire dossier on the mission. Failing to garner his attention, Taina rapped a knuckle against the oak door frame. Harry’s head jolted up, single eyebrow jolting higher, to peer over the folder. Then his eyes widened. “Ms. Pereira!” He dropped the folder onto his desk in order to stand, donning his ever-constant uniform of a sweater and inoffensively neutral-toned slacks. With a smile, he gestured to one of the seats opposite him. “Please, come in. Sit.”</p><p>Taina entered. A click sounded from behind—the door shutting, and she tried to conceal the way she still hobbled upon moving. Her dragged out body sank like a rock into her chair. A sweet relief from the voyage through headquarters. The leather cushion hissed at her weight.</p><p>“I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.” Harry snatched a red mechanical pencil—much more versatile and maneuverable, perfect fidgeting—and observed her. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Good. Fine,” she said. “Doc mentioned you wanted to speak with me.”</p><p>“I do, but only if you’re truly feeling well.”</p><p>Taina’s gaze settled back on the folder resting on his desk. Without deviating that gaze, she inquired, “Is that what it’s about?”</p><p>Harry picked up the closed folder in his idle hand. Weighty, stout with pages. The dossier resisted him, sagging in his grasp. “It is.”</p><p>Taina coughed out a cross between a laugh and a sigh. She leaned back in her chair. Chilly hands clenched onto the ends of the chair’s arms. Thick leather. Like déjà vu.</p><p>A different director.</p><p>A different month.</p><p>Back from a different country.</p><p>But the same old bullshit in her wake. Inextricable from her life. The same old Caveira; same old Taina Pereira. Lost in a horrible forever. Unchanging. She tried not questioning why that fact even surprised her—she knew the answer, having foolishly held out hope that maybe this would be the time, that one time, to break free. Because if not now, when?</p><p>
  <em>Never.</em>
</p><p>‘<em>But—</em>’ something in her argued. Resistance was useless though. <em>Even if. Theoretically. Maybe;</em> it was all useless.</p><p>Taina, gripping both chair arms, heaved herself up out of her seat and into a stand. Ready to run.</p><p>“I’ll make this easier for you,” she said. Her trembling hands cowered inside the pockets of her black sweater. “I’m resigning.”</p><p>“Ah, you’re— what?” Harry asked. Not understanding the words. Perhaps choosing not to, either or. His thin frame jolted from his chair with an agility she’d never anticipate from him, and he snapped a hand up to adjust his walnut brown glasses with a quick whack. “<em>What?</em> You’re resigning? Why?”</p><p>The stench of since-passed rain somehow infiltrated its way through the closed window of Harry’s office. A palette of blazing oranges and steely blues chased away the dark clouds that had welcomed the morning. Taina memorized the atmosphere’s gradient to cope while speaking. “It’s clear that I can’t do this job properly anymore. To the point where I almost died because of it, so what else am I supposed to do?” The words slit her tongue in their admittance.</p><p>She had told him that she couldn't change and do her duty as a Rainbow operative. <em>‘I refuse to compromise my job—my entire life—for, what? Measly personality growth?’ </em>Those words reverberated like malicious, sneering laughter making a mockery of her. Tearing her apart. She hadn't even done that and <em>still</em>... Despite being the same old Caveira and the same old Taina Pereira, <em>still</em> she found a way to obliterate her everything into oblivion. </p><p>She forced herself to shift and face Harry once more, levelling him with a dour stare. “You were just going to terminate me anyways, right?”</p><p>“I was going to do no such thing! I was going to <em>commend</em> you.”</p><p>Taina scoffed. “For what?”</p><p>Harry shot out an arm to gesture at her vacant chair once more. The velocity plinked his bracelets together, red leather and black beads colliding. A statue, he refused to either sit or speak until Taina finally settled back in once more. Harry flipped through the folder, on the hunt. Taina couldn’t see what until he removed something and gave it a final review. One single report. Pages secured together. In the top left corner, paper-clipped photographs. Hand flattening the document upon the surface of his desk, Harry slid the report over, attention plastered to her the whole time.</p><p>Taina watched him watch her. A rivalry of gazes. Hands folded in her lap. Unmoving—hesitating. She gnawed on the inside of her lip, mostly healed, drinking the taste, the memory, of her own blood. Then she sighed.</p><p>One hand snapped out, gliding the document closer to rest right in front of her.</p><p>And then, only then, she dared to look. The white page, decimated by black ink upon black ink. Thousands of tiny words telling a terrorizing tale. Too tiny. Illegible. Taina picked the document up instead, raising it. “What is this?”</p><p>“Dirty bomb.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The device the White Masks brought,” Harry said. “It was a dirty bomb.”</p><p>Taina abandoned the document—a fraction of a report regarding the incidences at the Necessidades Palace—and instead unhooked the set of photographs from the corner. Flipping through them one by one: a disabled timer, blocks upon blocks of C4 for some kind of IED—a typical grandiose and destructive composition from the White Masks, a zoomed out photo of the device all contained within something large and rectangular. The last photo, an anomaly. A single red and teal soda machine splayed open. No lights on. A busted and dislodged lock protruding from its face. Barren, save for the bomb.</p><p>Taina frowned, perplexed. </p><p>Harry’s voice shrivelled into a whisper. “How could you possibly know it was in a drink vending machine?”</p><p>“I— didn’t.” Taina lowered the stack of photos back onto Harry’s wooden desk, but she still stared at the final image. <em>Soda. </em>The green and red crate, stockpiled with bottles of it. She blinked—breathless while a thousand puzzle pieces fell into place at once. “One of them was this kid. A teenager. He had the case that the bomb was brought in. I started— I talked to him instead of just—”</p><p>“Instead of what? Shooting him?”</p><p>Taina crossed her arms over her chest. The stitches weaving through the skin of her right arm tugged on the surrounding flesh—still irritated from her own maiming. “We would have been able to diffuse the bomb earlier if I had.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you? Just interrogate him, I mean.”</p><p>A sigh bled out from between her lips. </p><p>What was she supposed to say? Something hadn’t seemed right about the situation. It <em>felt</em> wrong; it gave her a bad <em>feeling</em>, and militias don’t operate on <em>feeling</em>. </p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>“Do you regret that choice?” Harry asked.</p><p>Thinking back on the fragmented and wild eras of her disaster life, she never really regretted much. Little, insignificant things here and there, but none worth mentioning—that was the thing about acting instead of ruminating. Committing over pondering.</p><p>Now, mistakes. Those she had made dozens of, but regrets…</p><p>“I don’t know,” she whispered again. </p><p>Maybe she did. Maybe she was participating in one.</p><p><em>‘Run,’</em> the demon caged inside her mind bellowed.</p><p><em>But…</em> <em>what if I don’t want to? </em></p><p>Taina hunched forward and braced both hands against either side of her head, over her ears like it would silence the cyclone of thoughts warring against each other. Her head dropped instead, braid tickling against the skin along the back of her neck. Body quivering. Fingers raking through the roots of her hair. There was no point even pretending in front of Harry. A forsaken feint, so she let the tears gather like wolves. “Lisbon was an utter disaster. Almost dying on your first mission back— <em>failing</em> on your first mission back after probation is a good way to ensure you never actually get off probation. If I had interrogated him, none of that would have happened.” Her finger jabbed against Harry’s desk, nail tapping on the wood, as if illustrating some point her obvious chagrin couldn’t. “<em>I failed</em>,” Taina said, drinking down the truth of her words. An overdose of inadequacy.</p><p>Harry blinked once. “So you do?”</p><p>She slouched back in her chair, arms flinging in a shrug exacerbated by the question’s nature.</p><p>Harry’s lips pursed together, completing a suspicious visage—like he possessed a secret. The man took a break from fiddling, with his pencil, his gold wedding band. Rather his hands flipped open the Operation Ghost River dossier once more. Leafing through page after page, he mumbled to himself until his eyes widened and something of a smile flashed on his lips. “Ah,” he said to himself. Harry plucked his objective from the folder, a photo, gave it another once-over, then extended it out for her.</p><p>Taina took the photo from him.</p><p>Her eyes studied the way he leaned back in his chair, setting off resounding creaks and squeaks, an oddly tense anticipation sagging down his eyebrows and the edges of his lips. He scratched at his beard while he waited. <em>This game is getting annoying...</em></p><p>Her vision dropped to the photo in hand.</p><p>A teenage boy smiling happily at the camera. Some school photo, she assumed. Almost like a different human when not handling a firearm out of petrification in a terrorist situation. But the same dark curls. The same juvenile face that branded the walls of her memory even still. Taina glanced up at Harry, head shaking. Why show her this? Yellow sunlight broke into the room through crystal clear glass windows, warming the tone of his skin but not the indecipherable look upon his face. </p><p>“His name was Rafael Cardoso. Nephew of Salvador Cardoso, an administrative assistant at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Lisbon. He liked to visit his uncle and tour the palace. A good kid, from what I’ve gathered. As always we looked into all of the White Masks members for potential contacts and future attacks.” Finally Harry smiled at her. Uneven, and lacklustre. Deprived of any happiness, but a smile. “There’s no indication he was involved with the White Masks at all. Wrong place, wrong time.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Harry rested his elbows on the desk, leaning forward, and clasped his bony fingers together. “You’d have gotten nothing from him, Taina.”</p><p>Scorching static deluged her veins, shooting up the marrow of her spine.</p><p>Incomprehensible. And yet... somehow rational in its insanity.</p><p>The shaking, his fear, the container, the bottles of soda—so obviously displaced from where in hindsight. He had stated it so plainly: ‘<em>they told me I have to shoot whoever comes in here.’</em> Though there was no concrete mention of it, one could only guess what kind of <em>or else</em> followed that order. Taina, mauled by lightheadedness, set the photo back down on the table. While scrubbing her clammy hands over her legs, agitating the threaded knots in her thigh, more purgatory echoes invaded her mind. ‘<em>I don’t want to shoot anyone.</em>’The boy, Rafael Cardoso, had been made into more than a red herring. A sacrificial lamb, innocence itself—executed upon serving no further purpose.</p><p>But, somehow, not by her hand.</p><p>Taina remained comatose, unable to fully process the moment. Stunned into silence.</p><p>Harry stretched an arm forward and took the photo back. He smiled at the kid before slipping the photograph into the dossier once more and sealing shut Operation Ghost River but by no means laying the event to rest.</p><p>His head snapped up so his umber eyes could pierce into hers. “Why didn’t you do it?”</p><p>Taina gaped at her own hands. Nestled in her lap. Pale and cold and already misted with sweat again. Fingers, sprinkled in cuts. The pad of her left index, blemished by a dark dot. Her nail pried. As if somehow she could scratch it away. But that was impossible. The stain, permanent though never worsening. It could only improve. Taina swallowed the small bits of skin she had nibbled off her tongue. The taste of iron was noticeably absent at least. Then she took in a jagged inhalation before saying the words she had dreaded even thinking.</p><p>“It… didn’t feel right.”</p><p>Harry smiled. “That’s good.”</p><p>“<em>No, it’s not</em>,” Taina spat. “I can’t operate on feelings. I can’t—”</p><p>He waved a hand through the air. Not dismissive, an invitation to disagree. “Why not? Feelings are intuition, and intuition is merely the subconscious mind. Just because you didn’t think you knew something was wrong doesn’t mean your mind didn’t.”</p><p>Harry ascended from his desk chair. The cream-coloured drawstrings of his hoodie hung lopsided—the left side a little nub of frayed fabric while the right side stopped only just above the pocket. Harry picked up the file folder and shuffled around his desk. Taina’s hands clenched in her lap. Paying no attention to his movements until he came to a standstill right beside her. When she peered up, Harry smiled and extended the entire dossier on the operation out for her to take.</p><p>“If you’re going to resign, I ask that you first read everything in here before doing so.”</p><p>Taina didn’t take the folder. Her attention remained hyper-fixated on nothing and everything except him simultaneously.</p><p>Harry nodded and set it on her lap anyways. It wobbled. Destined to fall. Her hands automatically lashed out, desperate to grab hold of everything before it slipped and spilled onto the floor of his office.</p><p>Operation Ghost River.</p><p>Her fingertips traced over the Rainbow logo. The bold black ink of two laurel branches. The numeral donning its pistol.  </p><p>“May I ask you something?” Harry asked.</p><p>He hadn’t made his way back to his seat. Not really. He moved aimlessly. Loitering in whatever vacant space there was—between two dark and towering bookshelves like he hadn’t expected her to still be sticking around.</p><p>In all honesty, Taina wasn’t sure why she hadn’t left either. Every moment, another chance to alter her course of action. And she couldn’t have that. Yet there she stayed.</p><p>Her silence served as permission to commence.</p><p>Harry half-leaned, half-sat along the side of his desk, and he returned to twisting the wedding ring around his finger. “What do you think you would have done a month ago?”</p><p>Taina’s eyes fell shut. Her posture deflated once more, her body falling forward. Elbow against the file folder, the bruise on her back aching from the bullet her vest had mostly absorbed, she corkscrewed the heel of her palm into her eye socket. A kaleidoscope of colour blinded her—even with her eyes closed.</p><p><em>What would you have done a month ago?</em> A sanguinary answer she couldn’t bring herself to think about.</p><p>But neglecting to admit that answer would never make it any less true.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry, I had to! Caveira is too stubborn to accept a full-blown change that easily. At least, I think she would be. And I'd rather focus on that than whether this plot line actually made any sense. Anyways. There are two chapters left (two?! Cue my frantic and slightly terrified sobbing). One is an actual chapter. The other is a longwinded epilogue where I try to convince you all that this was a happy story all along... Hahah. I swear it will end happy. But because of all that, it doesn't feel right to post them separately. I'm aiming to post them both on the same day. Just as a warning though, if it's slightly later than the usual one week, it's because I'm trying to desperately fix two chapters and tie the loose ends of an entire story together in the span of a week. Worse case scenario if I fail at my mediocre time management and don't think that'll work out, I'll post them separately with an apology.<br/>Until then, thank you all so much for reading and commenting and leaving kudos. Your guys' support really does mean a lot to me. And... talk to you all at least one more time! Take care!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Anima</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So... unfortunately there's only going to be one chapter this week. The past couple days have been a pain, and then I also decided to do almost a complete rewrite of the last chapter. Unsurprisingly, it's not quite done yet. But on the plus side, still one more week left after this! Hopefully you guys are all okay with that and hopefully this chapter, despite being very narrative heavy, is okay too! Thank you all, as always!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The open window allowed a fresh, crisp breeze to circulate through every square inch of her bedroom, cleansing the thick air she breathed and pacifying the wave of heat crashing through her, under the skin. Even though the blinds were closed, newborn morning light permeated through. It illuminated everything—her grandmother’s weathered knife in hand, the Rainbow dossier on her bedside table, the black sweater she had taken off, the piece of luggage sitting next to her on the bed. Cell phone held captive between her right shoulder and her right ear, Taina wedged the aged weapon along a side wall of the hard shell suitcase before moving onto the next item. She raised a plain navy t-shirt into the air and began folding it in her lap.</p><p>“But you’re okay, right?” João asked.</p><p>She flopped the folded article into hersplayed open suitcase next. “Yeah, I’m fine.”</p><p>“Thank God,” João said. Then she heard him yawn.</p><p>She had only just gotten around to charging her dead phone. And the moment it turned on, João’s dozens of replies and calls in response to her text and subsequent silence bombarded the device. She had called him back, forgetting how early it would be in Brazil. But with each word they spoke, it mattered less and less. Didn’t seem to bother João much either.</p><p>“So what now?” he asked.</p><p>Taina’s eyes meandered over to the folder on her bedside table. She hadn’t made it all the way through. It all swamped her. Too many descriptions, too many photos. One was enough to wreck her. God only knew how long she spent staring at the same photo. At that face.</p><p>Operation Ghost River—a haunting. And far, far too fresh.</p><p><em>Knock, knock, knock.</em> </p><p>Taina rifled a glare at the door, listening for someone to speak from the other side. To further announce their presence. Something, anything.</p><p>When nothing else came, she rolled her eyes. <em>Asshole...</em></p><p>Grabbing hold of her cell phone, she gave her shoulder and neck a break from the tension before the muscles began to spasm. Her hands carried a fruity scent. Citrus. From the mandarin orange she had picked apart after coming back from Harry’s office. Its juices still staining her skin, making the phone stick to her fingertips.</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>“But you’re off the hook for what happened in Bolivia now, right?” A sizzling sound bled through the phone. Like food on a skillet—she pictured a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. João yawned again and said, “Everything can go back to normal now.”</p><p>She shook her head. “I don’t kn—”</p><p>
  <em>Bang!</em>
</p><p>The bedroom door flung open and smashed into the door stop along the baseboards.</p><p>Taina eased into a stand, staring wide-eyed while the blood in her body fizzled.</p><p>Loitering in the doorway—Gustave Kateb. Wearing his GIGN blues but without his lab coat. Hands still bare and showing skin. His arms were full of everything she had left behind for him. Mementos of her: a gift that in no way pleased him. A wounded scowl occupied his face, a sight that wove a dozen knots in Taina’s gut. “I’ll call you back later, okay?” she told João, eyes never straying from the man before her.</p><p>“Okay. Later, sis!”</p><p>“Bye,” she said, but she kept the phone to her ear, waiting for João, for the beep of their call disconnecting. Only then did she lower the device, her arm dangling at her side. With no buffer, the air thickened. Heavy and polarized and resistant to her lungs. Taina bit down on her bottom lip and braced for impact.</p><p>“What is this?” he asked.</p><p>Gustave raised her beret and the folded switchblade his right hand, the rest of her uniform cradled in his left arm. But then his shadowy, narrowed eyes abandoned her form. Line of sight, trickling off to the the left. Past her—to the suitcase sprawled open on her mattress.</p><p>His lips parted, though no utterance escaped.</p><p>The fretful lines across his face disappeared, smoothed instead by grief. Open, soft, hurting eyes left all of her riven instead.</p><p>“I—”</p><p>Taina didn’t know what to say.</p><p>It still didn’t make rational sense in her mind: why had the past month been so hard? In a life marred with hardships, she could slip undercover with Brazilian drug lords without blinking an eye. The Rio de Janiero security crisis—the riots, the day after day of endless violent acts, the constant open firing—she faced it head on with honour and pride. Confronting a Bolivian drug cartel like a one woman army. All of which was inherently more difficult than—what? Waiting to clear probation? Coming to terms with her own emotional unavailability? A list of things that shouldn’t be difficult at all.</p><p><em>All those things you’ve suffered through</em>, she mused, <em>just to concede to the most mundane of challenges.</em></p><p>Taina strew her arms around herself. Her fingers clenched around her bare biceps. Fingers pulverizing the muscle, nails embedded into the skin. Pressure on her stitches. And then, remembering who she stood before, she immediately stopped. “This is so much harder than I thought it would be.” </p><p>“What is?”</p><p>She spun around where she stood. Facing the wall and her bed and the half-full suitcase resting upon it, she tossed her phone down onto the mattress.</p><p>A more reasonable portion of her mind knew the skills required to confront gangs and gunfire were different than the skills required to confront one’s own self. Polar opposites. Being detached had made everything so easy. Empty, but easy. Family being more than just blood made it complicated. Love made it more than complicated.</p><p>
  <em>I don’t know if I can take it.</em>
</p><p>“Constantly caring is…”</p><p>“I know it doesn’t seem like it,” Gustave uttered, “but there’s— you’ve— it’s not always going to be like this.”</p><p>Taina spun back around when she heard him struggling.</p><p>Gustave’s brooding gaze trickled down to the floor, to his shoes. Avoiding her. Only briefly though because he glanced back up, and whispered, “Having all these ties that bind you to people, that’s very difficult for you, isn’t it?”</p><p>Not an accusation, a desire to understand. Something she realized was almost incomprehensible to him, to most people.</p><p>Taina nodded—she owed it to him to at least admit it.</p><p>Footsteps rang from outside through the still-open door to her bedroom. She watched Frost walk by and continue down the hallway, either paying no attention or opting to ignore something she shouldn’t have seen to begin with.</p><p>Gustave’s eyes still struck her, unwavering and smouldering—as if viewing into her very soul. A reprisal. Some non-verbal way of saying once more: <em>I see you.</em></p><p>‘<em>He always does,</em>’ Taina thought. ‘<em>Maybe he always had</em>.’</p><p>Gustave nodded back. He raised his right hand again and stared down at her beret instead. His thumb trailed across its circular BOPE patch—the bundle of black, white, and gold threads forming an impaled and incensed skull atop two crossed pistols. “I’m sure I speak for your brother and Emma and everyone else when I say those ties bind you to us as well.” Gustave turned his focus back to her once more, resting the article atop the folded stack of her uniform. His thick, dark eyebrows gravitated together in spite of the smile he tried to bear. “It’s like you still think you have to get through this alone, but you don’t. Whatever the problem is, whatever’s troubling you, I want to help—”</p><p>“I told Harry I’m resigning.”</p><p>That verbal statement, the supposition come to life, appeared to sicken him—blanching his face, snuffing out the hope in his eyes. “Taina,” he croaked with a raw fear stitched into every syllable, “you’re not actually leaving Rainbow, are you?”</p><p>Underneath those words, she heard the question buried within the question: <em>you’re not actually leaving </em>me<em> are you?</em></p><p>The hitch in Gustave’s voice sent her back in time like a flash. She could hear him begging. For her to stay alive, to not leave him. ‘<em>S’il te plaît, mon amour.</em>’ The sadness storming his eyes. Her fingertips against his concealed lips. How nothing killed her more than begging him to leave her behind forever.</p><p>Tears scorched, obscuring her vision, ready to fall—or perhaps just the memory of them.</p><p>Yet here she was. Alive and kicking.</p><p><em>I bet this isn’t what he was picturing on the other side of that moment</em>, Taina thought.</p><p>
  <em>Leave.</em>
</p><p>A part of her almost wanted to. Felt like she had to—somewhere along the way she had lost her nerve, and something in her deemed that unacceptable.</p><p>
  <em>Run.</em>
</p><p>For the first time Taina pondered, <em>what is life outside of this?</em> She couldn’t even remember anymore. She’d been working with the military before she could even legally join. The tiniest fraction of her life existed outside of BOPE, outside of Rainbow. What else was there? Strained family relations. A bloody résumé that would impress no other employer. The one man she had actually fallen for—the one who made her want to be better for once—and she couldn’t walk away from Rainbow without also walking away from him.</p><p>
  <em>Run.</em>
</p><p>Taina peered over at the folder sitting on her nightstand.</p><p>
  <em>Rafael Cardoso.</em>
</p><p>His photo, his innocent face, resurfaced in her mind like a deluge, bringing with it a dozen questions. Questions like, why? Why Rafael Cardoso, a life cut short for no apparent reason? Why had she been given so many opportunities to escape her calamitous past? Opportunities for change. For a way out and a life worth living—opportunities she wasn’t certain she deserved.</p><p>Why would one single choice to give up burn those many opportunities Taina Pereira got to ashes while all Rafael Cardoso got was a shotgun blast to the spine?</p><p>
  <em>Run.</em>
</p><p>“No,” Taina said—the only sound filling the void around them.</p><p><em>You would have shot him</em>, she told herself. An admittance.</p><p>She’d have blown his head to pieces. Showered his blood and brain matter all over the walls and the paper-covered floors—a scenery ingrained in her mind still. Or if not that, she’d have shot him enough times for him to beg for death. To plead for his life. All before piercing his throat with one quick, deep knife. One month ago she would have done so without even half a thought; something she could picture so vividly. A lucid image almost mistaken for memory. It forced her eyes to close.</p><p>She would have killed him. And there was only one reason that she didn’t.</p><p>
  <em>‘You’ve changed.’</em>
</p><p>Taina didn’t know how. She barely even believed it, but someway, somehow, something had changed.</p><p>Bolivia had changed her.</p><p>João had changed her.</p><p>Gustave had.</p><p>And after all that, she had still done her job. The White Masks’ plan had been foiled. She had helped find the bomb, and that supposed change—her greatest fear of all—was the only thing that spared her from murdering a teenager in cold blood.</p><p>Change. Evolution. ‘<em>It’s a good thing</em>,’ Harry had said. ‘<em>You shouldn’t run from it.’</em></p><p>“No?” Gustave echoed. A single word begging for her to continue. For assurance and to allay all doubts.</p><p>His voice, flaunting a gravelly and dark timbre, shattered Taina’s reverie.</p><p>She flinched, eyes tearing open. The sunlight stabbed at her corneas, blinding. Pouring in through the window, illumination spilled over Gustave where he stood. Still in the doorway, never moving—a marble statue forever frozen in place. The light brought out the true blue of his uniform, even more so in contrast with the greys of hers still in his care.</p><p>“No,” she repeated, their gazes locked. “I’m not leaving.”</p><p>
  <em>‘Constantly caring is…’</em>
</p><p>Hard.</p><p>Incredibly hard, she realized. Both a heaven and a hell. The job itself was hard enough. Doing both at the same time—caring and fighting, inciting fear and still embracing her own, changing and evolving yet staying the same, owning chaos while also being forced to her knees by it, striving for control in a world out of its mind—over and over… That cold, lifeless heart of hers back from the dead. When it had been bled out and buried six feet under? Impossible to tell, for it had been too long. All she knew was it wasn’t gone. And half the time it just brought more suffering. But that was life—just the cost of being human.</p><p>Fear and love.</p><p>Her identity may have been corroded by both, but for certain that was better than only being feared. So much better to be both, to <em>feel</em> both. To feel at all. She wondered if maybe that was something she needed to trust more.<em> Trust it, and forget how much it hurts.</em></p><p>But a small inconsequential fragment of her being wondered how long. How long she’d be able to take it. How long until it broke her for good.</p><p>Taina didn’t know.</p><p>But certainly longer than this.</p><p>“I don’t want to give up.” Her gaze redirected to her dry hands, cold fingers fidgeting with each other. “I don’t want to run. I’m so tired of running, but I— keep forgetting how not to.”</p><p><em>I’m lost,</em> a defeated voice from the shallows of her mind screeched.</p><p>But she knew she wasn’t. Why was it was easier to pretend she was lost than it was to accept she wasn’t lost at all?</p><p>Taina ambled her way over to him—still just inside her room. Paralyzed, waiting. Step after step, she moved until they stood face-to-face. His gaze toured her body, stopping at the left side of her neck before roaming south and then returning to her eyes. She stretched her right arm around him to grip the edge of her bedroom door. It took one rough shove and then— <em>slam.</em></p><p>Alone. Together.</p><p>Taina collapsed into him. Arms coiling around him, head resting against his shoulder. Feeding off his strength.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she whispered.</p><p>Her deep inhalation filled with him. Strong musk, still fresh from the morning. Everything pressed against her—the bundle of fabric against her hips, the folded over switchblade poking at her spine. Negligible, strong, muscular arms circled around her lower back, forcing her closer, their bodies squished together. Her fingers wove through his hair, and her eyes fluttered shut. Gustave’s pulse consumed her—singing in her ear pressed to his neck, striking through his chest flush with hers. A blissful hymn.</p><p>“I’m just being stupid.”</p><p>Taina backed away, keeping her eyes shut until the damp, acidic burn subsided. When she did open them, she had to smile at the simple yet utopian vision before her. Just him. There. Always. Never leaving, refusing to let her leave.</p><p>Gustave scrubbed the backs of his fingers against her left cheek. “You are not stupid, <em>mon cœur.</em>”</p><p>“No, I’m...” Taina trailed off, noticing at the mere mention of the word how immediately she got losing in the rhythm of his heart. Still hitting her. Again, and again. “Wounded.”</p><p>His journey continued. Fingertips, tracing the line along her jaw and down the left side of her neck, skirting past the stitches woven through her flesh. And while every ache and pain suddenly fluctuated at the idea, they both knew those wounds weren’t the ones being referred to.</p><p>Taina frowned. “Maybe a little stupid too, but I’m learning.”</p><p>And in the process, also learning to unlearn all that which had been committed to her mind and incorporated into her very being.</p><p>Her hands skated along Gustave’s shoulders and down the wave-like flow of muscles lining his arms. One hand hand seized a handful of her uniform. Her other hand plucking the black beret out of Gustave’s grip, she strode over to the closet, letting distance do the job of heaving her clothing from his hold. Taina tossed the beret onto the top shelf of her closet. Slinging a hanger through her shirt and trousers, she hung them up and nudged the closet doors shut.</p><p>“I thought almost dying was supposed to be a transcendental life changing experience,” she said.</p><p>Walking back over to Gustave, Taina plucked her switchblade from his grasp next. Rotating it in both hands, she meandered over to her bed.</p><p>Then she scoffed. “Before it was always just another adrenaline rush. This time I feel like it made me worse.”</p><p>“Taina?”</p><p>She lobbed the switchblade into her suitcase for no reason. The layers of t-shirts padded it, emitting not a single sound. “Some kind of thanks for saving my life, isn’t it?”</p><p>Taina leaned over to retrieve her phone once more only to do nothing with it. Fiddle. She turned the screen on with the press of a button then immediately turned it back off. Someone had texted her—the message box appeared and then disappeared. Emma, she thought. Too fast to know for sure. She dropped the device into her bag knowing full well she’d have to take it back out in due time.</p><p>“Thanks for not letting me die, by the way.”</p><p>Deep down she knew that not letting her die was only one of the multitude of things she should be thanking him for.</p><p>The floorboards creaked behind her. Then right next to her.</p><p>In her peripheral vision, Gustave lingered, even while she tugged the suitcase closer and tilted it to survey the disordered items she had packed.“Taina?”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>An automatic response, but a near-truth nonetheless.</p><p>Her deep exhale dragged, a long sigh, and she pleaded for her vision to stop blurring and burning. Finally, she shifted, neck craning to look Gustave in the eyes. Eyes that healed every sorrow and strife in a single stare. Reddened, dampened, but glimmering—a look somehow vowing that the worst had passed.</p><p>And Taina believed it.</p><p>“I’ll be fine. If— as long as I have you,” she confessed, stumbling over her words, “I’ll be fine.”</p><p>He nodded back, face vacant of any blatant expression despite all he lively features to work with. Neither trying to counter nor convince her, but a little flutter of air escaped his lips. Something almost like a chuckle. “Even without me, you’d be fine.”</p><p>Taina’s shoulders flopped in a non-committal shrug. Maybe—probably—but she didn’t want to test the theory.</p><p>Gustave hunched over. The sound of ripping velcro tore through the silence. One hand rummaged around in the low thigh-level pocket of his GIGN coveralls, and then he stood back upright. The hardwood moaned again at Gustave’s singular step forward. A little bud of a smile blossomed on his lips, and only then did Taina glance down.</p><p>In his open and extended hand—the suppressor of her Luison.</p><p>“But I’ll always be here,” Gustave said. “Always.”</p><p>She took the attachment from him, holding it in both hands. Spinning it around. Fingers exploring the mineral fibre enveloping the silencer, choked in zip ties. A small smear of reddish-brown blood—hers, for certain—stained the fringed casing. Her nail scraped along the crusted splotch of colour, and gnawing pangs ruptured all along her body like different tormenting landmarks: her thigh, her arm, her back, her neck. Taina hurled the suppressor onto the bed, watching it bounce and tumble across the wrinkled blankets.</p><p>When she shifted back to Gustave, his focus had moved on.</p><p>He had a hand stretched out to her suitcase. Fiddling with an old wrinkled and dirty baggage tag still secured to the suitcase’s handle and bearing barcodes.</p><p>Taina watched him begin to nod—at nothing, mostly until he dropped the tag, and his eyes peered right into hers.</p><p>“Home?” he asked.</p><p>
  <em>I’m already there…</em>
</p><p>Still, she nodded. Brazil. Ready or not, she was going. It was time. Time to start over again, properly this time. Reset. She didn’t know what balance she’d find in Brazil that she hadn’t found presently since returning to base but it would be a chance to rebuild without the same slanted foundation she had left Bolivia with.</p><p>When Gustave nodded again, she smiled back.</p><p>Nestling up to him and fully engulfed in his space, her left hand wafted up into the air. That darkened and scarred index fingering dragging along Gustave’s lower lip. His gentle breaths washed over her skin—a soothing cadence of airy heat. She kept him still by capturing his face in her hands. Taina leaned in, tentative and timid, eyes closed, until she felt her deadened lips skimming against his, all warm and firm.</p><p>His arms slipped around her, hands drifting along the curves of her body. Gentle and cautious yet holding her safe and sound. Kissing her back. Purifying her.</p><p>When their lips parted, Gustave slanted his forehead to rest against hers, his heat radiating. Vibrating her core and resurrecting her willpower.</p><p>“<em>Je t’aime</em>,” he whispered.</p><p><em>I’ll be fine</em>, Taina thought. She'd be better than fine. She had to be. No way in hell did she make it this far just to survive. To just live a shallow life. More—a survivor rising out of the ashes and throwing her own sparks. Onwards. She let loose another small smile, mostly to herself. “<em>Je t’aime aussi.</em>”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Coda</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First off, for those who would like to skip my blathering, I'm gonna say one quick thank you here, so you can ignore the long version at the end. Thank you!!<br/>Second off, a question... theoretically if I were to write another full length Cav/Doc fic, what type of content would you lovely people want out of it (e.g.: more fluff, more domestic moments, more action, more angst [please not more angst… lol, I kid])? I’m leaning more towards a continuation in the same universe rather than another separate one because there’s only so many times I’m willing to write them getting together and personally this version feels relatively true enough that I’d rather build off of it than redo it. I’m trying to test myself and write a more plot-driven story as opposed to a solely character-driven one, but the one plot idea I currently have is kind of weak. But I’m already getting in so deep that I might just commit to it? I don't know. But if anyone would like to put forth or share some plot ideas, I’m all ears. Also, as mentioned previously, I’m gonna do some Cav/Doc one shots. And, keeping to my word, the first one will be the aforementioned Doc POV scene. Once I actually post it (and think of a damn name for the collection… help??), I’m also open to suggestions/ prompts/ whatever.<br/>Third, please enjoy, and thank you again.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The gentle drizzle fell down upon her the moment she exited the taxi. Misty and lukewarm. She beheld the sight before her. A fortress of red brick and water-stained windows. Duffel bag mounted atop her hard shell suitcase and braced against the extended handle, she marched through the main doors. None of it really hit her until she cleared security and bypassed the countless icons of winged daggers. Once the flashy and patriotic SAS symbols and slogans fell away and her surroundings morphed into bland walls and lifeless hallways. It was harder—certainly harder than she had anticipated given everything that had happened—to leave Hereford; she found it equally hard being back in Brazil. Not physically in a sense of space and time, but being mentally present with her entire family… Over the week and a half it had drained her. Exhausting, but worthwhile. And now—</p>
<p>Taina smirked to herself.</p>
<p>
  <em>Home.</em>
</p>
<p>She made her way through the familiarity towards the dormitory building. But around the last corner of the hallway, she almost collided with Smoke. They both flinched at the other’s presence.</p>
<p>“Cav!” he exclaimed.</p>
<p>“Porter.” Taina watched three other figures round the corner after him. “Ah, entire SAS crew,” she corrected herself. </p>
<p>Thatcher, Sledge, and Mute stood with him. All of them boasting matching uniforms of dusty blue-greys and black gear, indicating they were on their way to somewhere—the kill house presumably. No masks though, so each of them could reciprocate her honest though only partially enthused half-smile. </p>
<p>“Nice to have you back,” Sledge said.</p>
<p>“<em>Obrigada</em>. I assume I haven’t missed too much. You’re walking like a normal human again,” she said, nodding her head at James. Next she shot devious grin at Thatcher. “And you’ve still got this nightmare on your face.” She flicked her hand out, wriggling a condemning index finger at the thick, bristly handle bar moustache framing his mouth.</p>
<p>Mike whacked her hand away. Grumbling the entire time, he stomped on past her. </p>
<p>Taina grinned and, words warring with a chuckle said, “It <em>is</em> nice to be back.”</p>
<p>James and Mark laughed, and while they wandered off after Mike, Taina went to resume her stroll to the dorms.</p>
<p>“Cav?”</p>
<p>Mid-step, she froze. Peering over her shoulder, Seamus still stood near the corner, lingering right behind her and abandoned by his fellow Brits. Taina spun to face him again.</p>
<p>“How are you doing?” he asked. “Really?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine.”</p>
<p>“Good. I, well… a lot of us were worried about you.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>Sledge’s laugh meddled with a scoff. “You never seem to worry about yourself, so someone has to right?” His smile plummeted after that though, and his tone of voice dropped right with it. “You were my responsibility on that operation, and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for what happened.”</p>
<p>“I’m nobody’s responsibility, and you’re an idiot for thinking otherwise,” she mumbled, completely monotone though she made the conscious choice to banish any glare beginning to form across her face. One deep breath in, and she smiled instead, nodding. “But your concern is appreciated.”</p>
<p>Frown fading, Seamus quickly erased his shock as well, the wide eyes and slacked jaw, and smiled back.</p>
<p>Until—<em>thump</em>—Taina punched him in the arm. </p>
<p>“Ow!” He grimaced, jerking back, and rubbed a hand over the tender spot on his left bicep.</p>
<p>Taina flashed another smile. “See ya!” </p>
<p>With that she scurried off and finally made it to her room.</p>
<p>Two steps in, she dumped her suitcase onto the floor and soaked in the moment. The room smelled odd—not bad, just… weird. Empty. Oddly foreign in that way only recognizable after being away for so long. Taina crouched down and tugged at the zipper of her suitcase. Flicking aside various clothes, gutting the thing, she found the woven twine handles of a brown paper bag buried under a sweater, and she yanked, freeing it. Bag in hand, she made her way back out of the dormitory building, drinking each ounce of her environment—every visual and audial stimulus Hereford had to offer. The metallic clanks from the gym. Very distant gunshots from the kill house outside. The ruckus rising then falling before fading out completely as she wandered down the barren hallway.</p>
<p>She came to a sudden stop—destination reached.</p>
<p>A stealthy lean forward showed no sealed door greeting her. Instead, an open glimpse into the dark, far corner of the room where the three hospital beds sat in a row. Unoccupied.</p>
<p>Silence beckoned her next.</p>
<p>All a series of good signs.</p>
<p>At the doorframe, she hunched over to spy.</p>
<p>Gustave shifted in his seat. The wheels of his black medical stool squeaked in rebuttal. He worked: drawing circle after circle over a piece of paper, stopping to check the bulky silver watch strapped to his wrist before scribbling a small note in the corner of his page. Taina couldn’t stifle her smirk—so large it tore an ache in her cheeks. </p>
<p><em>Merda. </em>Eyes widening, she quickly checked down the hallway. Having someone else catch her grinning like that would destroy her entire persona. Sure, some major part of her had changed, but she wasn’t her if she didn’t maintain at least a little scare factor. </p>
<p>While she could happily stare at him forever, she deemed it a slightly inefficient use of her time, so she proceeded. Quiet as ever. In her natural habitat, trying to sneak around. A joy abandoned upon stepping into med bay with its bleach-ridden air and abruptly halting in place. The brown paper bag thumped against her leg, unleashing some crinkles, a series of rattles, and a glassy clinking sound. Gustave’s head shot up at the clatter, and he glanced at the source. </p>
<p>Then a sweet smile then lit up his face like a thousand burning suns. </p>
<p>“You’re here!” Gustave tossed his pen onto the desk and stood up from his seat. </p>
<p>Reaching back, Taina shut the door behind her and flicked the lock into place without even looking. Slipping back into the habit, automatic. Grinning, she ambled her way over to where he stood. Looking the exact same: broad shoulders, lively eyes, the slightest five o'clock shadow. Every single slight feature teeming with delight. Much closer now, he flung his arms out into the air, open and ready to embrace her.</p>
<p>A rapid, jarring movement that made Taina recoil. Reflexes going berserk. </p>
<p>She forgot what it was like. What <em>he</em> was like. The abundant, unabashed love. Especially after being back in Brazil for so long, she found herself needing to readjust. To remember. The dynamic—so different, almost irreconcilable, from how things were with her family. Like living two different lives. But she was okay with that. <em>Nothing new there. </em></p>
<p>Only a short distance away, she dragged her already slow pace. Something that did not please Gustave. </p>
<p>He groaned, advancing three quick steps, and captured her in an engulfing hug. Taina laughed as his hand braced the back of her head, cradling her closer. So comforting.</p>
<p>“Welcome back,” he whispered. </p>
<p>Taina smiled against him and nuzzled in. Hugging him back, arms hooking up under his, and then—<em>thunk. </em>The weighty bag in her hand whacked against his back, glass bottle emitting another wailing rattle, and Gustave let out a tiny grunt. </p>
<p>“Oops.” Taina backed away, taking the bag with her.</p>
<p>“What is all that?”</p>
<p>“Uh, I didn’t know what to bring back for you as a souvenir.” She leered, eyes narrowed to slits, at the bag in question before reaching in and withdrawing a beautifully varnished, forest green wooden box. “I bought these for some reason. The seller persuaded me that Brazilian cigars are a great souvenir, which seems idiotic now because I feel like there’s no way in hell you smoke.”</p>
<p>“I try not to.”</p>
<p>“Well...” Taina handed Gustave the box anyways. “You could always throw them out and keep the box.”</p>
<p>He took the item, running his fingertips over the smooth edges and the intricate carvings along the lid, finding admiration in the handiwork.</p>
<p>Taina shoved her hand back into the paper bag. This time her fingers gripped the cool neck of the rambunctious glass bottle with a bright yellow label. The crystal clear fluid swished inside, dancing with her movements. “I bought a bottle of cachaça because it’s the spirit of Brazil. It’s like rum, which doesn’t strike me as your thing because alcohol just destroys your liver, so I’m not sure why I purchased it.” Taina extended the bottle out to him and with a drooping tone said, “That’ll be mine, I guess.”</p>
<p>Gustave took the bottle with his free hand. Holding it up. Eyes, scanning over the sticker as if he could read any of the Portuguese printed all over it. </p>
<p>She took out another box from inside the brown bag. Ornate, golden, and cardboard with a plastic window on top showcasing a dozen perfectly symmetrical chocolate balls rolled in chocolate curls, pistachio chunks, and sprinkles of varying shapes and sizes—a mosaic of colours.</p>
<p>“These are called brigadeiros. They’re like chocolate truffles.” The only gift she deemed decent-ish. Brigadeiros were as much a part of her as well as Brazil. Nostalgic, but souvenir-worthy. She had certainly gorged herself on them there, and the box in hand was by no means the only box brought back to the UK. Taina adjusted the peacock blue ribbon tied around the corner of the box, tugging at one loop to straighten it out. Keeping a rein on her high hopes, she shrugged and then forced herself to glance up at Gustave. “Uhm, do you like sweets even? They just give you cavities.” </p>
<p>Gustave tucked the green wooden box under his arm still holding the bottle of cachaça. Right hand free, he plucked the brigadeiros from her.</p>
<p>“I do,” he said. A smile dawned on his lips and then he winked at her. “Even if they give you cavities.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” She nodded, ignoring the temperature rising in her cheeks. “Good because my attempts only got worse from there.”</p>
<p>“There’s <em>more</em>?”</p>
<p>Taina grimaced. She removed a small Christ the Redeemer statue from the bag. And then a bag of Brazilian coffee beans. An amethyst geode bearing a delicate wire tree, as if sprouting from the raw crystal. A tacky coffee mug—until her hands were full. “I didn’t know if you’d like any of those, so I started buying random things which in their meaninglessness kind of defeats the purpose of getting you a gift. Getting you something was supposed to be a gesture, not—”</p>
<p>Gustave pivoted, stepping over to his desk, and bent over to set the glass bottle down onto the corner. He lowered the box of confectionaries next, closer to the center of his desk where he had been sitting. After setting down the box of cigars, he spun back to her and held out both hands, empty and cupped. Ready. Awaiting. Taina placed all the little trinkets into his palms. She rifled through the bag for stray knickknacks. Figurines. Pins. Sand bottles. Wish bracelets. Stacking each item over the other, a balancing act. Taina rummaged around for one last thing. Hand wedged into the deepest corner of the bag, the stuff paper crinkled so loud in the otherwise silent medical bay the noise fed into a forming headache. Once the cold metal hoop hooked around her index finger, she took her hand back. </p>
<p>A foam stress-ball key chain—bright green and yellow and soccer ball-shaped. Taina glared at the item dangling from her knuckle. </p>
<p>Then she groaned. “Sorry.”</p>
<p>Gustave chuckled and waited for her to drop they keychain into his care. Once she did, he returned to his desk to carefully pour the items over the top, some trinkets spilling onto whatever document he had been marking up.</p>
<p>Taina pursed her lips with nothing better left to offer. </p>
<p>He strode back over to where she stood, the empty bag still in her grip. Gustave captured her face in his hands and then he captured her lips in his. Warm, soft. Taina melted against him as he circled one arm around her. She hurled the bag onto the ground then flung her arms around his neck, her body colliding with his, flush. Kissing him back, hungering for the taste of him, the feel, the experience—intoxicating. </p>
<p>Starved for air, they broke apart, but Gustave snuck a quick peck to the tip of her nose. The tickles made her face scrunch. </p>
<p>“You’re my gift,” he said. “The perfect gift.”</p>
<p>Taina pretended to gag. Still, her hand rambled up his chest and fiddled with the bunched collar of his navy uniform before her fingers raked through his hair. “I missed you.”</p>
<p>“I missed you too.”</p>
<p>“Did you? I thought you’d enjoy the break.”</p>
<p>“Of course I missed you,” he said, tightening his hold around her waist. “Who else am I supposed to call cute and then get scolded by?”</p>
<p>Taina blinked twice, deadpanned.</p>
<p>Gustave grinned and then puckered his lips at her. Expectant, waiting for Taina to press her lips to his.</p>
<p>Her eyebrows knitted together, and her lips twisted into a displeased frown. </p>
<p>He leaned forward, quick—an attempt to steal a kiss if she wouldn’t give one. But, quicker, Taina shot a hand out to stop him. Palm against his mouth, fingers pressed all over his face, she gave him a nudge. Gustave grumbled something; she caught only the undercurrent of a laugh. He seized Taina’s wrist and yanked her hand away—though not far. Just far enough for him to breathe and dust a kiss along her knuckles. Next he pinned her hand to his chest, right above his heart. Thumping against her. Through all the skin and muscle. Taina smiled.</p>
<p>“So, how was—”</p>
<p>
  <em>Knock, knock.</em>
</p>
<p>Gustave groaned, glancing down at his watch. “<em>Zut!</em>”</p>
<p>“Ah, the interruptions,” Taina sighed. “Is it weird that I missed them too?”</p>
<p>He laughed and then called out to whomever stood on the other side of the door, “One minute.” Gustave bent down to pick the paper bag up off the ground. Sticking a hand in and ramming at each corner forced the bag wide open. Returning to his desk, he began packaging everything back into the bag. The different boxes and the bottle of alcohol before sprinkling the other smaller souvenirs in.</p>
<p>Taina stepped around his built frame and opened one of the drawers of his desk. An action that drew no resistance from him, but one eyebrow still flicked up in bewilderment. She rummaged around until she found a box of bandages. Fingers leafing through, the bundle of wrappers released a series of rustles until she found one large patch bandage. “Do you want me to take that?”</p>
<p>“<em>Non</em>,” Gustave replied as he finished clearing his desk of Brazilian tokens. “We’ll talk later?”</p>
<p>“Your room or mine?”</p>
<p>Gustave smirked, setting the now full bag down underneath his desk and nudging it out of view with his foot. “Which ever one you end up in.”</p>
<p>“So yours.”</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>Her chilly fingers tore open the wrappers of her bandage, tossed them into the garbage, and freed the adhesive sections. Then with a loud <em>smack</em>, she slapped the bandage against an arbitrary spot on the back of her left hand. With that Taina wandered over to the door and undid the latch securing it.</p>
<p>“Thanks, Doc,” she said—<em>hollered</em>. Intentionally way louder than required.</p>
<p>Taina heard him chuckle as she threw the door open. Finka waited in the hallway. Attention half on her phone, fingers prodding the screen. Taina flopped a wave her way with that freshly bandaged hand, parading the detail around to the maximum. Lera waved back before entering med bay. As she ventured down the hallway and with no witnesses, Taina picked at a corner of the square bandage, ripped it off, and crumpled it into a ball. Sticky residue clung to her skin. Whitened outlines of a square. She scrubbed at the gummy glue twice before giving up and flipping her hand over instead. Smoggy lights of the hallway beat down on her outstretched hand and the small dark mark permanently staining the pad of her index finger. Her thumb swiped over the blemish. Smooth, painless, a part of her until the end. Another on an already long list of bodily scars. Still, she smiled. Finding an inexplicable comfort in the memento. A solace born from—in spite of—the bygone tribulations.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Ribbons of milky moonlight illuminated fragments of the room through the half-sealed blinds—the wrinkled sandy brown comforter draped over the mattress, Taina’s bare back, accenting the old wound along her shoulder blade; the scar tissue’s thickness forcing a shadow, the light bringing out its reddish hue. The paleness spilled off the edge of the bed and onto the hardwood floor, stretching to the baseboards of the opposite wall in Gustave’s bedroom. She lay half-sprawled, half sitting atop him. Their frenzied breaths had mostly settled. Hunched over, Taina clenched her fingers through the silky, soft strands of black, silver, and white crowning his head. Gustave’s hand skated up from her hip through the delicate valley of her spine. Finding her braid, he fiddled—index finger swirling and wrapping around the tail end. One more deep kiss, long and indulgent with an aftertaste of chocolatey cocoa, drew out another hushed moan from him before she broke away and sat back up, straddling him.</p>
<p>“I’m glad you’re back,” Gustave said, reaching up to cup her cheek.</p>
<p>Taina leaned into his touch. “Me too.” </p>
<p>Sweat glued hairs loose from her braid to her face and the back of her neck. Itchy. Hard to ignore, but she did so by redirecting her attention. Scraping her nails along his bare chest dusted with dark hairs and dainty scars. Revelling in his nakedness. In the heat of his body under hers.</p>
<p>“Brazil was good?”</p>
<p>“It felt… strange at first. Being there for no purpose except to be there, but then it got better.”</p>
<p>It had taken a few days, but at some point—some moment indistinct in its normalcy—it all felt right. More than just family, she had missed the atmosphere too. The milieu of Rio, irreplaceable. The sun, the heat, the bustling city centre. Even the favelas, despite the ever constant acrid taste it left behind, she felt it necessary to return. Back to her playground, and she couldn’t find it in herself to hate it.</p>
<p>“And your family?”</p>
<p>Taina nodded. “They’re doing well.”</p>
<p>“And happy to see you, I imagine.”</p>
<p>“Yes.” A small smile broke upon her lips. Between João’s relief and her grandma’s tears at her presence, the only thing she had underestimated was her own happiness that would come with it. “The weather was infinitely better there too.”</p>
<p>“Well,” Gustave mused, thumb scrubbing back and forth over her bare thigh, occasionally tracing a heart before slashing lines though the invisible design blazed into her flesh. “We’ll be in Greece soon enough.”</p>
<p>Endless waking dreams of white and blue filled her mind. The blues of the Aegean sea. The whites of ancient marble structure. Santorini, a place she had always wanted to go. In the heat. Away from the frigid rain. Taina grinned—she couldn’t wait.</p>
<p>“Which reminds me,” Gustave said. With no further warning, he gripped onto her upper arm and flipped the both of them over on the bed, crawling on top of her. “I have a proposition for you since we never got around to discussing it further.”</p>
<p>Taina released an exaggerated gasp. “Committing arson in Hereford!”</p>
<p>Smirking, Gustave leaned down. Close. Close enough to kiss her, lips parting, but instead he brushed the tip of his nose against hers. “<em>Non</em>.”</p>
<p>One short grumble, and Taina pouted like a child, lower lip protruding. But something about the precious look painting his face as he memorized every inch of her evaporated that pout, tilting her lips into a lopsided smile instead. Her right hand wafted up. Fingertips, flicking at grown out tufts of hair hanging over his forehead. “What then?”</p>
<p>“I was thinking before we relocate to Greece we could make a quick side-trip.”</p>
<p>“To?”</p>
<p>Gustave’s body laid across hers. His hips settling between her thighs. Chest to chest. Taina felt his breaths lapping against her face. Mild and gentle—soothing in its constancy, until he quickly pressed his lips to hers.</p>
<p>“France.”</p>
<p>Immobilized, Taina’s eyes widened, and scarlet blossomed in her cheeks. Gustave noticed neither. He kissed her again—the corner of her lips. Then down her jaw, following the soft curve of her neck. <em>France</em>, she thought. Her gaze deviated. Just missing the beams of lunar light, the already partially devoured box of brigadeiros sitting on the corner of his night stand. The tip of the blue ribbon dangled off the edge and swayed through the air on an invisible wind.</p>
<p>Gustave found her free hand and like nothing, his fingers slipped between hers—water dripping between her fingertips. </p>
<p>“Paris, at least.”</p>
<p>Taina’s lips parted, eyes fluttering closed, and a sigh dribbled free.</p>
<p>“Please let me take you,” Gustave begged against the skin of her neck. Voice, dwindled to an ardent, pleading whisper. </p>
<p>And then he grazed his burning lips against her throat once more. A smouldering kiss. </p>
<p>A million sparks ignited—in her veins, in her core. She clung to him, splayed and numb fingers digging into his shoulder, into the corded muscles of his back, while his mouth blessed her skin, stealing every breath away.</p>
<p>Flickers of a fantasy danced through her mind.</p>
<p>Paris. The city of love. Of light. And Versailles, a palace that wouldn’t almost kill her. She wanted to be inside a painting in Giverny. Annecy, a beauty only in legend—she wanted to know for certain.</p>
<p>“Châteaux de la Loire?” she asked. </p>
<p>A breathy, surprised chuckle fluttered past Gustave’s lips. “<em>Oui.</em>”</p>
<p>Taina sighed again. The scent of him and the weak saline scent of perspiration and desire filled her nose and her lungs. “<em>Oui</em>.”</p>
<p>Gustave’s head shot up. A huge toothy grin lit up his face—even in the semi-darkness. Ducking in, he landed a quick peck to her lips. His hand unleashed hers, if only to stroke the bangs back from her glimmering hazel eyes. “You’ll love it. I promise.”</p>
<p>Love. </p>
<p>A word abandoned ever since she last uttered it. Despite her increased comprehension of the word’s illusive being—its intent, its meaning, the all-consuming feel of it—that word remained unused, off her tongue. Dormant. </p>
<p>Painfully absent. </p>
<p>“Gustave…”</p>
<p>“<em>Oui, mon amour?</em>” </p>
<p>“I—”</p>
<p>She found herself tongue-tied. Mouth all dried out in uneasiness. Whatever she aimed to say, the words evaporated.</p>
<p>The thought didn’t though.</p>
<p>Taina gently stroked his face—a distraction from the overwrought something misting her mind and leaving her mute. Thumb brushing across his mouth, tugging at his reddened and slightly swelled bottom lip until they both parted. Hot breaths escaped. A breeze hitting her thumbprint until the pressure of the tiniest kiss replaced it.</p>
<p>“I, uh…” She swallowed, still searching for her voice. For the right words. For the truth. Instead she blurted out, “I like your accent.”</p>
<p>“<em>Oh.</em>” His head tilted a few degree to the right. “<em>Merci</em>.”</p>
<p>The response sounded more like a question than anything else. Despite his confusion, Gustave moved to land a kiss behind Taina’s right ear.</p>
<p>Something she refused to acknowledge as panic overruled her, cutting through her gut. The cold rush, the need to do something—to take control. All eternally familiar symptoms.</p>
<p>“Wait.”</p>
<p>“Hm?” Gustave asked, lifting his head once more.</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“No, you don’t like my accent?”</p>
<p>Taina chuckled—igniting enough willpower to neglect the anxiety stabbing at her. “Not that.” </p>
<p>Hand bracing his sharp stubble-laden jawline, she forced his face to meet hers. Her fingertips traced up his perplexed face of slightly furrowed brows and the beginnings of a frown, all while saying nothing. Mouth opening just to close again. ‘<em>I look like an idiot</em>,’ Taina thought. She forced herself to swallow.</p>
<p>“I—”</p>
<p>Gustave veiled his hand over hers. Warm, tender—like an afternoon drizzle or some kind of reassuring shroud, and he craned his neck. His eyes slipped shut. Lips caressing the inside of her wrist, he placed a kiss above the veins buried under her skin.</p>
<p>“Take your time,” he whispered, an echo.</p>
<p>“I have,” Taina said. “Far too much of it.”</p>
<p>She swept her hand back up and fiddled with his hair. Pushing the silvery strands hanging down and catching moonlight back from his forehead just to watch gravity haul them back into place. Gustave’s eyes fluttered open and captured her, gleaming like an ember. So bright she could almost catch her own reflection. A sweet rapture.</p>
<p>Taina unleashed a carefree smile. “I love you, Gustave.”</p>
<p>Those words ruptured a look of unbridled joy—reassurance—on Gustave’s face. He leaned in, crashed his mouth onto hers, and kissed her once—then twice. Until he severed a third kiss and beamed at her. “<em>Je t’aime</em>—”</p>
<p>“Just say it.”</p>
<p>Gustave raised an eyebrow at her words. “Really?”</p>
<p>Taina rolled her eyes and with an even but delighted tone stated, “You get one<em>.</em>”</p>
<p>“Only one?”</p>
<p>“One, and you better be grateful.”</p>
<p>“Hm,” he uttered, pretending to be caught in deep rumination. “One is not a lot. It would be wise to save it for a special occasion if I only get one—”</p>
<p>“<em>Meu Deus!” </em>Taina flopped an arm over her own face, blinding herself, and let a loud drawn-out groan rip free. “I’m going to take it back at this rate.”</p>
<p>A laugh rattled his chest and sent the thoughts inside her head rattling with each quake. Gustave pried her arm away and rested forehead against hers, noses brushing. Their bodies and beings moulding into one. The escalated rhythm of a pounding heart rocked her. Whether that beat was hers or his—almost impossible to differentiate. She let her eyes coax shut. Allowing the black take her. Voiding everything else around her—all other stimuli—except him. Only him. His touch. His breath. His voice.</p>
<p>“I love you, Taina.”</p>
<p>Taina moved. Arms hooping around his neck. Stretching upwards. Desperate. Whatever it took for her lips to collide with his once more in a string of fervid kisses. She broke away for only half a second to breathe and to whisper against those lips, “One more.”</p>
<p>Chuckling, Gustave rolled onto his side, taking her with him, and claimed her mouth another hot open-mouth kiss. A small moan erupted from the depths of her, swept away into a haze, by the sheer experience of his tongue exploring her mouth. Arms and legs all intertwined into a mess of limbs; his hand gripped onto her bare waist, running along her thigh as she wrapped her leg around his hip. Her fingers raked against his scalp and knotted through the strands of black and silver. Jet black nails clawed into him, marking his back. Claiming him as hers, vowing to never let go. </p>
<p>“I love you,” he sighed into her mouth.</p>
<p>Maybe he’d get another one. Maybe more than just one. The quantity held zero significance. He could never utter the words again—it didn’t matter. She knew it to be true. For the time being, that was more than enough.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi. Feels weird to say at the end of something, but oh well. I just wanted to say a more heartfelt thank you. Thank you. If you are reading this, I mean it. Thank you. What started as a silly way to pass the time during quarantine turned out meaning more to me than I could have imagined. I think we are all pretty ready to see 2020 leave, but I feel very fortunate to close out the year with a number of highlights because of all the support and nice people who have read and kudos’ed and especially those who have commented. I feel like I know you even though I actually don't, and being new to the fandom, that makes me very happy. Even for those who haven’t, I’d love to know you, but even still, I see you and I still thank you from the bottom of my heart. I hope this story in some way brought to you at least a fraction happiness y’all brought to me.<br/>Okay, I’m done now. Thank you! Stay safe. See you in the next one.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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